


Photograph (chronological)

by oblivionbaby



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, antihetharry, tvshows_addict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:39:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 206,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivionbaby/pseuds/oblivionbaby
Summary: Harry steadies his jaw. “What do you want from me?”Louis’ bottom lip wobbles. “I’m not gay.”“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”And at that, Louis seems to completely lose his shit. He rushes towards Harry, banging his fists on Harry’s collarbones in a frenzy, and begins yelling-- “I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you so much!”Tears are rushing down his cheeks, and then he’s shoving Harry away, drunk out of his ass, causing Harry to stumble back a bit. Louis then begins to clutch at himself, fisting his own clothes to his chest, dribble falling from his mouth, his arms shaky and his back hunched.“Fuckfuckfuckufkcufkc!” He spits, face contorted, hands trembling. “I hate you!”“No, you don’t.” Harry steps forward, face concerned. “You don’t hate me.”-An epic love story in which Harry is too in love for his own good, Louis is in denial of his sexuality, and they write songs instead of actually talking to each other.





	1. 3

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written by antihetharry and tvshows_addict. I have not changed any of the original text except omitting author's comments and summaries. I do not claim to have authored any of this work; it is purely being uploaded for chronological time order. (3,5,7,9,11,13,15,1,17,2,4,6,8,10,12,14,16,18,19).

Chapter 3

“But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles”  
\- Anna Nalick, Breathe (2 AM)  
  
  
July, 2010 - X-factor days

 

There’s a popular misconception going around that Harry and Louis first saw each other in the toilets of the X-factor auditions.  
They’d be wrong.  
Or, perhaps, partially right, because the first time Harry sees Louis, it’s moments before that:- weeks before they became famous, days before they became a band and minutes before Harry falls in love. But that’s a story for another time.  
When Harry first sees Louis, he’s in the lobby of the X-factor studio, what feels like fifty feet from stardom, a mere hour from his audition and with a jellyfish lodged in his throat. Not literally, obviously (because that would not only be unfair to both the jellyfish and Harry, but unjustly cruel--) but metaphorically. As if all of the hopes and dreams instilled in Harry are rising up as one, sliding and cambering from the inside of his throat like they’re aching to be released.  
And it’s a weird feeling, if Harry’s going to be honest. It’s the midpoint between elation and nervousness, and it makes the moment where he first sees Louis even more substantial.  
It’s ten minutes into their arrival that a head, armed with long, straight locks of dark toffee hair and doused majorly in hair gel, pops out over the horizon, just across from Harry.  
In fact, he’s one of the first faces Harry sees amongst the throng of fresh-faced X-Factor contestants-- the smart young lads with chinos and thick, metal earrings, the chic women in their thirties, the shirt-sleeved elderlies hawking up phlegm the size of a UK ten pound note in the corner, the young group of men with startling Elvis quiffs and boxes upon boxes of microphones, the chubby teenagers on their phones and even the odd fifty-year-old sat outside, baking in the heat.  
So it’s obvious that from the moment that Harry lays his eyes on Louis-- who is basically shining golden in the LED lights, by the way-- that he’s struck by an odd sense of accomplishment. Who is this gorgeous stranger with the lopsided grin and the low-waisted jeans? And why-- or how-- is he so oddly beautiful?  
He’s smiling at this point, the stranger is, jumping around with his squadron of chino-clad clones-- but none of them shine as bright as he does, none of them are laughing like he is, none of them have that cliche-d sparkle in his eyes.  
This stranger, so different, yet so beautiful, so light-- causes an instant lurch in Harry’s stomach. Because he knows this feeling. He knows this sudden transition, this sudden ray of hope, this sudden elation, well, but he has never felt it so strongly before. And yeah, maybe it’s naivety. Maybe it’s just lust. But at this moment in time, looking at the stranger with the honeycombed hair and the thin, knowing smile-- Harry can't help feeling just something, well, more.  
“Harry?” A voice says.  
Harry blinks, stirs, and realizes that this voice belongs to his mother. He didn’t realize she was talking to him. “Yeah? Hmm?”  
His eyes are still following the stranger still, darting through the crowd to find him, locked on like some kind of unavoidable radar.  
“I said, would you like something to drink? I’m going to the vending machine to get a soda.” His mother speaks, a little frown on her face.  
“Uhmmm...”  
The stranger is laughing now, pointing towards the toilets, and pouting as all of his friends shake their heads. Harry has never seen anyone so attractive in his life.  
“What’s going on with you? You seem very distracted.” Anne puffs, an amused grin plastered all over her face.  
“Sorry, sorry.” Finally, Harry’s mind seems to register the question, almost as if all of his senses and thoughts and feelings and heart were beating in slow motion. “No, I’m good. Go ahead, I’m just going to the toilets.”  
The toilets are sparse, badly-lighted, and doused in a smell that makes the entire place seem more like a hospital than a toilet, but when Harry arrives there, it’s not that bad.  
Because the stranger’s there. Smiling. And yeah, he is kind of having a wee, like strangers do, but he’s there.  
In front of Harry.  
Real.  
There’s a boy next to the stranger, using the urinal beside him, clad in a bright yellow jumper and green trousers. The outfit, Harry must admit, combined with the hair, which is wavy at best, and combed unattractively over the boy’s forehead, looks terrible-- and his first impression of the boy is worsened even more when a cubicle door slams shut nearby, and the boy turns, squeals, and full-on pees on the stranger.  
Harry’s stranger.  
“Hey! Watch it, pal!” Harry’s stranger scowls, edging away from the boy with the green trousers and frowning with disgust at the tiny trickle of wee now residing on his leg.  
“Oops! Hi! Oh God, I’m so sorry!” The boy with the green trousers says, stretching out the hand not holding his lower parts, and beaming at Harry’s stranger with composure.  
“I hate to disappoint you,” Harry’s stranger says, glancing down at green-trouser-boy’s hand with an air of confusion, “But I’m kinda busy right now, Curly.”  
Harry snorts from behind them, thinking this assessment of the green-trouser-boy’s hair is way out of proportion. “Hah, Curly. Yeah, right.”  
Harry’s stranger and green-trouser-boy instantly turn around, their junk still in one hand.  
Shit.  
He can’t believe he said that out loud.  
Harry turns, runs, and takes shelter in one of the empty toilet cubicles. He doesn’t hear the following conversation taking place between his stranger and green-trouser-boy, partly because he’s trying to control the intense blush taking over his body, and partly because he’s practically buzzing with embarrassment and excitement-- because the stranger looked at him.  
When the room goes silent, Harry exits the stall. His heart is still thumping, his blood still rushing hot and loud in his ears, and a rush of excitement running around his stomach.  
And, as luck would have it, the stranger is there. Waiting. Leaning against the wall beside the bathroom door, with his junk now in his pants, a steady, knowing smirk plastered all over his face.  
“Wow, yeah, you just might be right.” The stranger says, extremely smirky and gorgeous all at once. “That guy’s curls are nothing compared to yours.”  
Harry is instantly invigorated. He knows this look-- he’s seen it before.  
Is the beautiful stranger flirting with him?  
Harry smiles, despite it all, and lets the stranger look him up and down.  
“So what’s your name, Curly?”  
“Harry.” Harry’s blushing now. “Harry Styles. My friends call me Haz.”  
“Meh, I think I’ll just stick to Curly.” The stranger grins. “It does suit you better, after all.”  
“Oh yeah? And what suits the other guy, then? Tinkle Ray?”  
“Tin-- Haha--” The stranger cackles-- a full body cackle, but it’s not evil, or harmful, in any way, like all of the cliches spell other cackles out to be. It a wonderful sound, the kind of sound that could chase away clouds and stop wars all at once.  
“You’re quite funny, you know that, Curly?” The stranger smiles, and God, Harry thinks he might just melt on the spot. “And you’re right. He does look like a Ray.”  
Harry cheeks turn pink at the compliment.  
“I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson. My friends call me Lou.” The stranger says.  
And Harry’s stomach instantly lightens, because of course. Of course this beautiful guy has a beautiful name, and of course, it fits him perfectly.  
“Sooo. I reckon we go find Tinkle Ray and prank him.” Louis grins. “I talked to him a little and he’s too stressed, bless his little cotton green trousers. It’s for his own good really. Plus, these auditions take forever. We might be here all day. What do you say?”  
He has mischief in his eyes and it suits him. For the first in what will become a tradition, Louis leads the way and Harry follows.

**

“What the f…”  
Harry bursts out laughing, and then Louis is grabbing his hand, running, and leading him to one of the many dark closets lining the X-factor waiting rooms.  
(Tinkle Ray may or may not have sat in a chair previously copiously watered by Harry and Louis, his jeans streaked a dark mint, his face covered in both betrayal and a thinly-layered sense of humour.)  
And now they’re laughing, barely breathing, faces red and smiles plastered on faces.  
“Do you think he saw us? Louis asks, a little worried.  
“Dunno.” Harry is all smiles and red cheeks. “Although that was a little mean, I mean, his audition is in, like, five minutes....”  
“Don’t go soft on me now, Curly!” Louis laughs. “The bugger did pee on me leg earlier.”  
Harry laughs. His phone is buzzing for what feels like the fiftieth time in the past twenty minutes.  
“Oh. I should answer this, my mum is looking for me everywhere.” Harry says, flicking up the caller ID.  
“Oh. Okay.” Is that disappointment in Louis eyes? “I should be getting back to my girlfriend anyway.”  
Girlf-- What?  
“See you around, Curly!” Louis says, egressing from the closet, closing the door and leaving him all alone in the darkness.

**

Wembley Stadium is so pretty in the evening, all illuminated by the sunset and the blatant promise of stars lingering behind the clouds.  
And Harry is super excited, taking it all in like a dry sponge as he walks in the front doors-- the nightlife, the people, the cameras. He made it past the first auditions, but he has no idea what he’s going to do now:- if he is going to be enough to join the endless ranks of superstars this show has churned out before, like a neverending factory of happiness. He hopes he’ll be enough, hopes that the little spark of something different that he’s hoarded away for so many years will be enough to win hearts and change minds.  
But there’s a little bit of sadness in him, too. Because he’s confused, and he rarely likes to be confused.  
He saw Louis kiss his girlfriend before going on camera, saw his face lit up by the way she giggled at him, all pale blonde hair and freckles, saw her grin at him when he walked on stage. And yeah, Louis got through, but there’s a little piece of Harry that wishes that Louis was the one looking at him like that-- wishing that Louis would go to him for a kiss of luck instead of that blonde-haired chopstick-on-legs.  
She’s pretty, though-- Harry has to admit. She has a round, slightly square face, pale, creamy skin, and dark hazel eyes that seem to make her hair seem even more prominent. Harry can see why anyone would be attracted to her when she looks that way-- but he never thought Louis would.  
Never thought Louis was-- you know--- that way inclined.  
Anyway. He forces these dark thoughts to the back of his mind as he clambers up steep stairs, says goodbye to his mum, and walks to the dressing room.  
And, of course, Louis is there-- chatting aimlessly with Tinkle Ray, of all people, in the corner, huddled beside the endless rows of clothes and makeup and sound.  
Louis’ hand is also on his shoulder.  
Harry is not quite sure he likes this,  
“Hey! Curly!” Louis calls out, once he spots Harry in the doorway, looking all lost and strange. “Come and meet my new friend, Liam!”  
“Hi.” Harry says, unable to hide his disappointment.  
The way Harry sees it in his head is that Louis doesn’t know he’s gay yet, and Harry might be just the one to help him see the light. Or, at least, this is the ideal story he’s set into his own head after hours upon hours of deliberating.  
Harry has always known he's gay-- and his first kiss with a girl just kind of confirmed it. The lazy handjobs he exchanged with Mike in the Bakery’s backroom on their Saturdays shifts last summer were just an added bonus to this.  
But Louis might just be the type of guy who flirts with everyone, boy or girl. Harry or Liam. Harry barely knows him after all.  
Liam interrupts his train of thought. (He might as well, it’s getting gloomy.)  
“Hi! It’s er, nice to finally meet you, Harry!”  
Wait, how does he know Harry’s name?  
“Louis here can’t stop talking about you.” Liam beams.  
Ohhhh.  
And just like that, poof-- Harry’s hope in humanity is restored.  
Harry’s gaydom one - Tinkle Ray (Well Liam), zero.  
They don’t have the time to talk more because they’re being called out for their first assignment, rushed into smaller rooms and makeup chairs, being given kisses and hugs of encouragement from what seems like everybody, and battling on in each of their own quests for stardom.

 

**

Later that night, there’s only a hundred contestants left. The dream is getting closer and closer, but, man, there’s a lot of waiting involved, and by the time Harry is set free by all of the makeup and prep crew he feels as if twenty years have passed. The sky’s vivid colours have long since succumbed into the horizon below, sinking into black, and so, as it seems, has Harry’s enthusiasm.  
He’s left both tired and bored by the constant waiting, eyes nearly drawn shut with lack of sleep, exhaustion ebbing over his face and sinking his head into his shoulders. So, naturally, he’s going to go find Louis-- to make it all better.  
He finds him on a secluded terrasse, sat on the very edge of a platform smoking a cigarette. There is someone else there, a few feet away, doing the same.  
“Man. I can’t dance to save my life.” The boy says to Louis.  
He’s cute, angular, and Greek-God-esque, despite both his apparent lack of composure and concern for his own health. Raven black hair, stooped vivaciously into a quiff below his purple hoodie, glints blue in all of the studio lights. His eyes are big, brown, and framed thickly by a veil of long eyelashes.  
“Me neither, Zayn. This is, funnily enough, not a dancing competition. I feel like we’ve been wronged.” Louis says, half grinning and all eccentric-looking. “Let’s call the big boss and threaten to sue for our troubles.”  
“Don’t joke, I’m being serious!” Zayn answers, a small smile on his face. “Jesus fuck.”  
Harry decides to walk up to them, pointing to Louis’ cigarette as some excuse to enter the conversation. “That stuff will kill you, you know.”  
“Don’t be a buzzkill, Curly!” Let’s live while we’re young. Plus there’s like, a ninety nine percent chance I won’t be here enjoying this view in a few weeks, so…” Louis shrugs.  
“C’mon, don’t say that, you don’t know that.” Harry says, a little frown forming on his face.  
Louis smiles. “Actually, I do. There’s a hundred of us. So there’s literally a ninety nine percent chance I’m gonna fail. Might as well enjoy the ride.”  
The three of them laugh, including Harry, who maybe feels like he shouldn’t.  
“Anyway. Why you here?” Zayn leans forwards, a small smile on his face. “Did you flunk maths? The X-factor your backup plan in life?”  
Harry is about to argue his point, because no, this isn’t just a backup plan, this is life and hope and all of the stars-- But Louis interrupts him.  
“Where are my manners?” Louis grins. “Zayn, this is Harry. You won’t find a more charming bloke around here. Curly, this is Zayn. He’s moody, he can’t dance, but man, can he sing!”  
Liam pops his head around the exit to the main building. “Guys, c’mon, we’ve got to go rehearse!”  
“Ah.” Louis lets out a thin sigh. “Duty calls, I suppose.”  
The two of them hop off the platform, joining Harry, and then they walk, almost as one, up to where Liam is waiting, a disappointed expression written all over his face.“That stuff will kill you, Lou, you know?”  
“Oh, piss off Li!” Louis grins. “Or not, I mean, we know you’re not the best at aiming it--”  
Liam blushes crimson and hits him over the head with a timetable schedule.  
As they walk, Harry and Louis are side by side, behind Zayn and Liam, who both are pointedly engaging in a conversation about whether DC is better than Marvel.  
“You make friends easily, Louis.” Harry states, half impressed, half jealous.  
Louis laughs. “It’s a gift, young Harold! One of my many special talents!”  
“That is not my name." Harry huffs, indignant. "Top Model and Tinkle Ray have hit it off, though.”  
“Alright, I see how it is.” Louis ruffles Harry’s hair. “Nicknaming is your special talent then, is it, Dimples?”  
That cheeky bastard.  
What a charmer.

**

Rehearsing with Louis is not an easy task, as it turns out. He’s loud, complains a lot, can’t take anything seriously and has the attention span of a four year old. Still, it seems to soothe Zayn and relieve some of Liam’s tension, so Harry supposes it’s all good. And he sort-of finds it fascinating-- how easily he can get people in orbit, gravitating around him like that’s right where they’re supposed to be.  
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He makes Harry a little uneasy. He doesn’t want to be in anyone’s clique, in the same orbit as anyone else. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s minion. He doesn’t want to be treated just like anybody else. Call him jealous. Call him possessive. Harry doesn’t care. This is stressful enough as it is.  
So gradually, Harry finds himself wandering around alone, leaving Louis with his new squad. Zayn and Liam look at Louis like he hung the stars, but it’s okay. Louis doesn’t seem to mind. But Harry often catches him staring his way, whether it’s through sneaked glances, or just a smile to see if he’s feeling included.  
So there’s that.

**

Harry didn’t get through.  
Neither did Louis, Zayn or Liam.  
Harry is crying in Mary’s arms, letting the tears soak her shirt, feeling bad about everything and everyone. He’s in shock, somehow, not realising he wanted it this much, not realising the truth would hollow him out like a china doll being split in half, not realising that he wasn’t as good as he thought, not realising that this would happen at all.  
And it’s an awful feeling. It’s a feeling that crashes against all four walls of his stomach and drags his mood down in a way strangely a lot like grief.  
When he looks up, he catches Louis staring. He feels exposed, self-conscious, and way too pathetic to ever be seen like this. He wipes away the tears, thanks Mary, and and goes wandering the halls to collect himself. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him like this.  
“Fuckin’ bullshit.” Harry overhears, quickly followed by a loud bang. Then sniffing, then sobbing.  
The sounds come from the terrasse. A young blond guy is there, spruced up in a pair of grey chinos and a cardigan, picking up a trashcan he obviously just kicked. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.  
Harry approaches the guy carefully. “Are you okay?”  
The blond guy is startled by Harry’ intrusion, and quickly wipes away the snot and the tears with his sleeve.  
“Yeah, yeah.” The blond guy dismisses. He has pale blue eyes, dashed with turquoise.  
Harry leans down and helps him pick up the trash.  
“Well, no. I really thought I nailed it, you know.” The blond guy says. “That was my fucking chonce and I blew it.”  
There’s silence for a few seconds, and then he says-- “Thanks, by the way. I’m Niall.”  
“M’Harry.” Harry nods, accepting Niall’s outstretched, sticky hand.  
Niall sits down at the edge of the platform, legs dangling, and takes out a joint.  
“Do you smoke?” Niall asks, a white, alien puff floating Harry’s way.  
“I’ve never tried.” Harry says.  
“Here,” Niall replies, putting the joint between Harry’s lips---  
and then instantly regretting it.  
Harry breaks out into a splutter of coughs. Niall laughs.  
“You’ll get used to it,” He says, grinning widely, “Just try not to drag so much.”  
After fifteen minutes of peace, quiet and smoke, Harry says--“You know, this isn’t too bad.”  
He’s never smoked anything in his life, and is already high despite it all-- so high, in fact, that he nearly doesn’t notice Louis sit up next to him until he’s there, all smiley and tanned and knowing, and it’s just too much--  
It’s too much.  
“Hey, Curly.” Louis says, a small, broken smile on his face, and Harry can’t help it, doesn’t care if he’s nearly seventeen years of age, doesn’t care about what anyone else thinks-- he just kind-of folds himself in Louis’ arms and begins to cry.  
And yeah, maybe it’s just his own reaction to the blunt. Maybe it’s just the realization that all of this-- whatever this is-- is about to be over. But in this moment, Harry just feels like complete and utter shit, and Louis is right there, holding him tight, brushing his fingertips along his back and being all warm and perfect and just--- there.  
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Louis says, and his voice is quiet now. “Hey, Niall.”  
Of fucking course they know each other already.  
“Hey, man.” Niall sighs. I’m going back inside, do you wanna finish this?” Niall lifts the second joint in his hands.  
“Duh.” Louis smiles, all crinkly and happy and sad all at once.  
Niall winks at him and Harry pulls away from Louis’ embrace, embarrassed.  
Louis takes the joint. Harry is still crying but it’s less sobbing, more sniffing, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve and trying to smile.  
“Sharing is caring, you know.” He says.  
“Haaaa, there’s the cheeky bastard I know and love.” Louis responds, passing the joint.  
Love. Yeah, right.  
They smoke in peaceful silence for a minute or two, looking at the blackness above, watching dark clouds expose bright stars and vise versa. Then, after a while, Louis turns his whole body to Harry, really looks at him, and says--  
“You know, out of everybody here, I think I’ll miss you the most.”  
Harry is speechless, stomach doing whirls.  
“I may not be the 1% but I really thought you were,” Louis speaks, eyes on Harry, really taking him in, but his voice kind of cracks at the end and it makes Harry want to kiss him.  
“Here, give me your phone.” Harry mumbles.  
Louis obliges, a little confused.  
Harry enters his phone number and saves himself as ‘Curly’, just to see Louis smile again, just to see blue flash onto his face and a small chuckle escape his lips.  
“Now that you have my number, you won’t have to miss me.” Harry says, and for a split second, it looks like Louis wants to kiss him too---  
\--and then the doors slam open.  
Liam rushes into the area, all disheveled hair and wide eyes. “Guys! They’re looking for us! I think… I don’t want to jinx it but I think it’s good!”  
Harry and Louis follow him in a hurry.

**

They’re in. Harry, Louis, Niall, Liam and Zayn-- they’re all in. They’re a band.  
Harry can’t breathe. Or maybe it’s just the high still in his head-- bouncing around his skull and making all of the lights brighter. He crashes into Louis and lifts him up.  
“Maybe I won’t have to miss you after all.” Louis whispers in his ear.

**

They spend the next two weeks getting to know each other at Harry’s dad’s bungalow, smothered in bright lights and happy feelings.  
Liam, Harry finds, is a real nutjob. If Louis wasn’t there half of the time, Harry swears that Liam wouldn’t be able to relax for five minutes, let alone hours. If you leave something on the stove, Liam worries. If you don’t have dry hands when you’re flicking on a light switch, Liam worries. If you leave metal objects near a plug socket, Liam worries. It’s like he constantly needs something to worry about, and even when everything’s fine, he goes out of his way to find something.  
Louis gets on Liam’s nerves sometimes, alright, but everybody knows that Liam needs the banter and the lightness Louis brings. They’d all have ears bleeding with all the piano, the guitar and the singing Liam obsesses with otherwise.  
Zayn is calm and conducted at all times, chilled even throughout Liam’s meltdowns, and the kind of person who acts jaded even when he isn’t. Sometimes, Harry thinks he has no emotions at all. When he’s high, however, Zayn becomes a whole different person-- crazy, loud, and hilarious.  
When Zayn is high, he almost becomes Niall, which is saying something.  
Niall, underneath his cherub look, is quite the ladies’ man. He sneak girls into Harry’s house on more than one occasion, leaving a trail of both giggles and panties strewn across the floor in his wake, and no matter how much Harry tells him off for it, he wakes up with a girl sprawled over his body each morning and a happy, devil-may-care-grin on his face.  
“What can I say?” He asks, as Harry goes into a huff, picking up all of the girl’s misplaced clothing and underwear. “Chicks dig me.”  
And Louis? Well, Louis is a force of nature.  
He barely sleeps. He’s loud, witty, giddy and all over the place, in so many more ways than one, and Harry finds the only times that he’s quiet are the few times he manages to hook Louis down into teaching him piano. (Another of Louis’ many special skills.)  
And in those moments, where the house is suddenly still and peaceful, Louis is very quiet.  
They sit beside a keyboard, Harry’s hands on the keys, Louis’ fingertips over his. And it’s all whispers and careful touches, all small smiles and giggles of excitement. It’s really nice-- so different from the Louis everyone else seems to know. Sometimes, it feels like they’re in a little glass bubble, sheltered away from the rest of the world, and nothing can pull them out of it-- not bad luck, not fate, not the world around them.  
And, you know, Harry thinks moments like these are very beautiful.  
Harry writes a lot in his old notebook during these two weeks. Lyrics, thoughts, doodles, knock knock jokes. The leather is worn out by now, weighed down by all of his thoughts and confessions and statements, but it comforts him to have something around him that’s constant. Permanent. Safe.  
He gets so lost in it sometimes, Louis has to drag him out by force, placing hands on his shoulders and laughing his way into Harry’s heart.  
“Chop chop Curly, we’re burning daylight here! One doesn’t become Mozart by writing Haikus and staring soulfully at blank pages!”

**

Every night since the first, the five boys find themselves slipping into the habit of lighting a fire on the terrace, telling stories, and smoking weed (thanks to Niall’s endless stash). These nights are always nights of happiness, and peace-- one can often stare up at the stars on these nights, thankful of all that you have, or find yourself laughing so hard that your stomach begins to ache. Harry loves these nights, and he loves them so much that he wishes that sometimes, his life will end up as nothing more.  
That they’ll never grow up, and stay forever this age; forever happy, forever huddled around a fire at God-knows what time at night, and achingly in awe with whatever Louis does.  
But despite all of this, on the fifth night, at fucking four am in the morning, Harry finds himself dozing off several times during Liam’s story about the first girl that broke his heart. He’s not being insensitive, or funny, or mean, or anything-- he’s just not used to staying up so late so frequently, and if he doesn’t want to be anything in the morning towards these new best friends, it’s crabby.  
So he decides to do something about this, standing up in warm-feeling pyjamas. “That’s it-- I’m going to bed, I’m knackered.”  
A chorus of ‘awwws’ echo around the circle. Harry realizes Louis is looking at him funny-- or is it lovingly? Harry can’t tell in the lack of light.  
“Sorry, Liam.” Harry pats him on the shoulder on his way out of the circle, “I’m sure Stacy rues the day she left you.”  
Zayn chuckles, and then proceeds to throw a marshmallow at Liam’s face when he pouts.  
Harry walks up dark stairways and black hallways until he finds his room-- and then, his bed. He’s been asleep for about ten minutes when he hears the mattress sink in beside him, breath on his neck, and then, the word--  
“Scoot.”  
It’s Louis. Of course it’s Louis, sat in a fucking plaid pyjama trying to get under the covers with him.  
“Come on, I’m cold, and this place is fucking freezing.”  
“Sorry.” Harry says as he moves up, squeezing against the wall and trying to ignore Louis’ feet pressed up against his calves, stone cold, like a statue straight out of the freezer.  
And then, before Harry can say anything more, Louis is asleep, head wedged in the crook of Harry’s back, snoring softly.  
Harry’s confused-- in fact, he’s more than confused. Did Louis not, like the rest of the lads, spend most of the night talking about how good their girlfriends were?  
He finally drifts off as red sunlight begins to cut through the window; draping sunlight all over the two, the bed, and everything inbetween.

**

The next morning (or rather-- late morning), Harry awakens to something hard shifting slightly up and down his lower back.  
It takes him a full minute to realise what it is. He’s sleepy and hungover, the morning light causing his eyes to slam shut, but still, all the blood that would normally go right to his cheeks has chosen to go down south.  
Fuck.  
He looks down, and sure enough, Louis’ hand is wrapped around his waist, and yes, fucking hell-- Louis is spooning him.  
Harry turns around in a state of shock. Louis is asleep still, eyelashes fluttering, cheeks flared, but the truth all seems to rush to Harry’s head like a tidal wave breaking through a barrier--  
Louis isn’t ready.  
Not for this. Not so quickly.  
And he’s probably going to regret it when he wakes up.  
Harry carefully manages to untangle himself from the web of limbs sprawled along his stomach, trying hard not to glance at Louis’ hard on, still lying flat against his stomach.  
God.  
He makes a beeline to the bathroom, not even acknowledging the three others eating breakfast in the kitchen, and turns on the shower.  
Go away, go away, go away, he thinks, gaze directed purposely towards his hard-on as he strips down and rushes into the water. It’s hot and nice against his skin, dripping down his back and his front, plastering his curls against his face and neck and making everything seem a little more...steamy.  
Fuck.  
He leans against the cold shower wall, trying hard not to think about Louis, but at the same time, thinking extremely about Louis-- about his fluttering eyelids, his parted lips, his erection, slick and pressed up against his stomach---  
Fuck. Harry begins to touch himself without realizing it, no longer able to fight the temptation, his head on the crook of his elbow, his fist clenched around his length and his head full of Louis.  
Louislouislouislouislouislouis.  
Water is dripping everywhere by the time that he comes, breath trembled and rushed, face red and full, and something feeling a little like guilt creeping up into his stomach.  
He turns the shower on full, kicking the residue down the drain, and tries not to think about what just happened.  
If Louis realises what he did that morning, he doesn’t show it-- nor, does he look at Harry in any different way.  
Harry is a cocktail of relief and disappointment.

**

The next few weeks pass just like a blur, filled with judge’s house and performances.  
Harry and Louis are attached at the hip, just like always. But since the “incident”, something has shifted and Harry is sure he-- and everyone else in the room -- can sense it.  
There’s a lot of touching involved, too, on and off camera, fingertips brushing against elbows, arms, chins, knees, shoulders, faces-- anything Louis can smuggle in. And a surprising amount of gay innuendos, as well-- which the other three seem to find more than amusing, but Harry finds a little frustrating.  
Can’t Louis see what he’s doing to him?  
For a while, the world becomes a montage of sly stares and little touches that seem to mean so little to Louis and then so much to Harry.  
And then, as the days go by, Louis’ girlfriend is mentioned less and less. Louis seems to have forgotten completely about her, lost in his time with Harry, slipped away into a dream of nothingness. Because despite his frustration, Harry won’t deny that he began to fall in love with the way he fell in love with Louis--- slowly, and then all at once.


	2. 5

Chapter 5

“You put your arms around me  
And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go  
You put your arms around me and I'm home”  
Christina Perri, Arms

 

September 12th, 2012

 

They’re in a hotel room in London. Niall is jumping around on the bed, Louis is on his tablet. It’s early afternoon, and as Louis watches out of the window, specks of sunlight, long hidden from the previous bouts of rain, suddenly begin to spring from the edges of the clouds like puppets from a jack-in-a-box. They egress from their previous confinement with apparent leases of joy, not wasting one moment to spill out over the city space below and paint all of the shadows out into a vivid, golden light.  
Louis isn’t going to say it’s beautiful, but it’s definitely beautiful.  
“I wanna go out, Louuuu.” Niall whines, suddenly making his presence known aside from causing a bumpy ruckus on the bed.  
“So? Go out, Niall.” Louis drags his attention down from the sight outside and back onto his tablet.  
“But I wanna go out with you lot! All five of us. We never do anything for fun anymore.” Niall pouts, rolling down the bed, so that his side is pressed up against Louis’ back.  
“You’re bored with touring, tv appearances and awards already?” Louis turns to look at him. “What a sad rock star you make.”  
“Don’t mock me. You know I’m right.” Niall rolls back to the other side of the bed, becoming a montage of blonde hair and white sheets. “When was the last time we got drunk just for fun, without all the entourage, huh? Think about it! Lately it’s all work and no play.”  
Louis pauses at that, fingers centimetres from the tablet screen.  
“Liam is at the gym for fuck’s sake. Harry is out shopping,” Niall whines, head to the ceiling,“Zayn is doing god knows what, but I’m pretty sure it’s boring ---and what are you doing, huh?”  
Louis grits his teeth. “I’m emailing my lawyer.”  
“I rest my case.” Niall says, giving Louis the most pointed look he’s ever seen in his life.

**

When Harry comes back from shopping, all spruced up in YSL bags and Hollister perfumes, he finds a Louis on his hotel bed, all dressed up and smiley. He smells like sunshine and promises, and looks figuratively like heaven:- messy, windswept hair, black jacket that wrinkles in all of the right places, grey Vans, and just the slightest hint of stubble along his jaw that makes Harry want to squeal and cry all at once---  
Oh God.  
This boy is going to be the death of him.  
“Get ready Curly, we’re going out! The other three lads already agreed. It’s a boyband only outing.” Louis claps, sitting up from his previous position and giving Harry the crinkliest smile he’s ever seen. “Apparently, we need to regroup and live a little. Doctor’s orders.”  
“Okay.” Harry sends him a quizzical look, but agrees nonetheless.  
(It’s not like he would ever say no to Louis.)  
Five minutes, a quick dressing up escapade, and a few squirts of cologne later, they’re heading out of the hotel’s rear exit and being practically assaulted by the crowd of fans outside. The sound of their screams is earsplitting, like there’s nothing else in the air or the world, but through the ruckus, Harry can clearly make out the sounds of the word “Larry” being aggressively yelled at them.  
And, yes. Harry has to hide a blush as they cut their way through the crazy.  
Because it’s true, and it’s painful.  
He’s been in love with Louis for two years now, but sometimes, it feels like everyone sees it except from Louis himself, and it’s frustrating. It’s beyond frustrating.  
And as Harry glances around the explosion of noise and crowd and excitement around them, screaming their love out loud, he really wonders: how can Louis be this blind?  
“LARRY! LARRY! LARRY!” The fans shout, trying to grab at their faces, their hair, their hands-- anything.  
And of course, they’re referring to Larry Stylinson. The nickname amuses Louis to no end. He thinks it’s funny, thinks that they have the best bromance in all of existence, and that their Oops and Hi tattoos are living proof of this friendship. (Poor Liam shrinks every time they’re mentioned.)  
Either way, Louis is completely, completely convinced that they’re meant to be just friends.  
And Harry? Well, Harry has no idea how to flip it around.  
17BLACK is a racy, aqua-themed club down the end of the street. It doesn’t have any flashing lasers or loud music, but is known to be very expensive, very chic, and very modern-- so it’s obvious that Niall would choose this to be the place to spend the night. It has lights in the floor, swirls of blue and green and purple leading you to the different bars, and in the ceiling, matching bulbs that cast a moody hue over the tables and chairs.  
It’s contents are so-often a cast of varying celebrities, so the sight of One Direction arriving doesn’t really cause that much of a stir.  
And drinks and drinks and drinks later, they’re all buzzing.  
Niall, of course, is the drunkest of them all. He’s a total mess, all dancing on chairs and stools and singing traditional Irish songs that probably should never see the light of day. Zayn is sat beside him, quietly smoking, and Liam is practically begging Niall to stop.  
Niall stands atop the bar, and holds his arms to the sky, like a preacher spreading a vital message. “Lads, I’m so happy right now! You have no idea! Like, I’m only prepared to fool around with one girl in the toilets tonight to spend time with y’all! That’s how happy I am!”  
They all laugh at that, despite the ridiculousness of the statement. Niall disappears into the crowd for about thirty seconds, and then straight away he’s back-- with a blushy redhead under his arm and a gleeful smirk on his face. Because of course.  
Harry shakes his head. Niall is utterly unbelievable sometimes.  
They’re sat at the end of the booth right now: Louis and Harry. Louis has his arm leaning around the back of the sofa, the blues and greens and purples reflecting his grin in new and beautiful ways, casting glittery shadows across his hair and making his eyes just that little more amazing.  
Harry didn’t think he could get anymore gorgeous-- but, apparently, like always, he’s wrong.  
“Wow, okay, you’ve gotta admit. Niall is quite the man.” Louis says, leaning back and nodding at Niall like he’s insanely proud of him.  
“Uh...I mean….”Harry messes with the sleeve of his jacket. “If you’re into that sort of thing, yeah…”  
“Oh, bullshit.” Louis snorts. “What are you into, Curly? I’ve never seen you with anyone. Are you a monk?”  
“Stop it.”  
Louis doesn’t push it, barely noticing Harry’s embarrassment, and instead choosing to order another round from the bartender, who smirks in their direction way too much for Harry’s liking.  
When Niall comes back, all red-faced and happy smiles, he can barely walk. Liam and Zayn volunteer to take him back to the hotel, amidst eye-rolls and short sighs, and so Harry and Louis rise from the booth to join them.  
Outside, it’s pitch dark, the cobbles barely illuminated by the moon, this part of London having fallen into a steady, heavy slumber-- only disturbed by the sound of the boys’ scattering feet as they exit the club and enter the cold and the wind.  
“Wait. Gotta have a smoke,” Louis says, pausing by one of the scarcely-lit lampposts outside the exit.  
As Louis lights the cigarette, Harry leans against the lamppost, watching the way the tip of it flares red and gold and all of the colours in between:- watching the residue spark from the ends, broken and burnt, and the rest of it rise in swirling trails of grey beyond them and into the rest of the world.  
Maybe cigarettes are a metaphor for love itself, Harry thinks, head mushed up with one too many drinks, and that the spark in a cigarette arises only to disappear completely, swirling to become a part of the sky and the stars itself, or to be burnt and trodden on below.  
He thinks that maybe he and Louis are the latter.  
“Tell me. What’s your deal. We’ve been best friends for two years.” Louis decides to pick up the previous conversation, stubbing his cigarette beneath his feet. “Are you a virgin?”  
“Stop it.” Harry laughs, all blushy and quiet.  
“That's it, isn’t it?” Louis’ grin becomes even bigger. “You’re saving yourself for the OOOOOne”  
“Stop it.” Harry murmurs, turning away.  
Is Louis really this blind?  
“No, I wanna know.” Louis is laughing now. “There are literally thousands of girls who’d sleep with you, so what is it?”  
“Stop.” Harry responds, more firm this time. He’s really drunk, and he doesn’t know if he’s in a state to have or continue this conversation anymore.  
“I know you’re charming and you can be quite the tease, so I’m sure it’s not your game that’s the problem!” Louis pushes, moving closer.  
“Stop it.” Harry is growing impatient now, a bundle of nerves.  
“A nice little body like yours shouldn’t be left untouched, you know.” Louis teases.  
And that’s the last straw.  
Harry grabs Louis, puts one hand on either side of his face, and firmly kisses him.  
It’s not soft. It’s not refined. It’s not everything Harry hoped for. And yet, it’s so much more.  
Louis doesn’t push away, he just stands there, letting Harry kiss him. And so, Harry goes for it, presses his tongue into Louis’ mouth, Louis’ eyes fluttering shut, wrapping his hands around Harry’s waist, Harry letting out a soft whimper as they travel up to his hair, fingers slowly tugging at his curls, and Harry’s hands travelling down to Louis’ stomach, pulling up his shirt--  
And shit. Are the stars aligning?  
They stay like that for what seems like hours-- two dumb popstars making out in the middle of a back alley.  
And then, a door opens from behind, in the bar, spilling light onto the street, onto their kiss, onto the perfect, and Louis jolts back instantly.  
The sound of heavy breathing fills the alley. Louis rubs his mouth, embarrassed, and Harry loses his equilibrium a little without Louis there to keep him anchored, falling back onto the wall behind.  
Harry is a mess, still heavily panting, chest feeling tight, and head in the clouds. Because did that just happen? Did Louis just kiss him?  
Louis is all crinkly smiles and awkward glances, rubbing his face and his neck and trying to play it off, like it was all his idea in the first place.  
“C’mon. Let’s go back.” He says, flustered. “Fresh air’ll do us good, we can walk from here.”  
Harry is good, though. He’s more than good. He doesn’t need fresh air. He just needs Louis, needs him to smile at him one more time, can’t stop playing their kiss again and again in his head. It’s intoxicating to even think about it, making his head turn into white noise and the rest of the world become a foggy, buzzy blur.  
Louis.  
“And I sayyyy… thank you for the mmusic!” Harry finds himself singing, perched on a lampost, his burst of song only broken by the continuous hiccups escaping his throat. “T-the song m’singing...”  
“Get down, for fuck’s sake, you’re gonna break your neck!” Louis scolds, but he’s smiling, and holding his arms out to Harry.  
And when has Harry ever rejected jumping into Louis’ arms?  
He jumps down, landing partially on Louis, his arms wrapped around his neck, eyes all watery and happy and sweet. Louis stumbles back, half shocked, half laughing, trying to steady Harry despite their evident differences in size and weight. Once Harry’s steady, and leaning onto Louis’ shoulder, they begin to walk again, their shadows intertwined and stretching out onto the wall and all of the lights.  
“Bloody Hell,” Louis comments, after a while. “I never saw you as a needy drunk.”  
“M’not needy, Lou,” Harry gurgles, “I only need you.”

 

**

The next morning, Harry wakes up alone, sprawled across the duvet, a bright light in his face and a dryness of his throat. As he stirs, sitting up, a rush of memories sink into his head, ebbing beneath the horrid realization that he’s very, very hungover--  
Niall laughing. The smell of Zayn’s cigarette, Liam’s pout. And then….Lamppost. Louis.  
Louis.  
Louis putting him to bed, laughing as Harry tried to pry off his clothes.  
The taste of spearmint, dashed with vodka…  
Why can he taste that?  
Oh God.  
They kissed, that’s why. It’s the way Louis tasted.  
He kissed Louis.  
Louis kissed back!  
God.  
What does it all mean?  
Is it progress? He can’t stand it anymore. It’s been two fucking years.  
He glances at the minimalist digital clock on the hotel nightstand, chugs down two aspirins, tries not to think about Louis in the shower, brushes his teeth, and then goes straight to Louis’ room.  
He knocks gently, trying not to wake the others. From inside, he can distinctly make out the smell of bubblegum, spiked a little by just...Louis.  
Louislouislouislouis.  
He opens the door in only his boxers, a sleepy, forced smile on his lips, and a mess of extremely unruly, tangled hair atop his head. He reminds Harry of a baby kitten, somehow, and it’s killing him.  
“Man, Harry. What happened last night?” Louis says, yawning. “Fucking hell, I blacked out completely. Did you get me home? I’m pretty sure someone drugged my drinks. I’ve never felt worse.”  
What. What?  
Louis is still not ready, Harry can feel it. Or maybe he really doesn’t remember. Either way, telling the truth would only only end badly for the both of them, and it stings Harry in the base of his throat and all of the way down to his fucking stomach.  
So just like that, Harry lets him off the hook, trying to ignore the water stinging at the corner of his eyes.  
“I dunno man, I can’t remember a thing either.”

**

After that, everything seems normal. Louis is the same as he’s ever been with Harry-- cheeky, adventurous, close. But something has changed, and Harry knows this because of such an easy read Louis is.  
He grows impatient with the fans when they ask him about Harry, ignoring questions about his sexuality, sneering when Zayn shows him graphic fanart of ‘Larry’ together. And, even worse, he even takes a week from the tour to visit his girlfriend, which fucks up both the entire schedule but the way Harry feels. What is he supposed to do now, for God’s sake?  
And then, Harry sees the tweet.  
“Larry is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”  
At first, he can’t believe that it was Louis who wrote it, can’t believe that it’s not a hoax, not words of denial, not a joke.  
But then, as it pops up on his newsfeed again and again, it starts to sink in.  
And then, he’s a mess. For a while, he doesn’t care about what he looks like, and on stage, he’s unusually quiet, not playing along with the lad’s games, not joining in on the banter, not waving, not smiling, only singing and talking to the crowd when he has to.  
And Harry guesses, in these moments, it’s the music that’s his only comfort, the rows upon rows of fans swaying to the words they wrote the only real statement that what they’re doing is worth it and that this whole thing hasn’t been one big lie. For a while, he basks in their applause, sits on the side of the platform at most concerts, looks at all of the little lights in front of him, and, for the first time in what feels like ages, feels at home.  
For a little while, he pretends that his home isn’t stood behind him, wearing blue eyes and that stubbly smirk.  
And in the end, it’s Zayn that tugs him out of it: this little self-crisis that he’s immersed and covered himself in. It’s Zayn that finds him after one of their concerts, grabbing his arm and leading him down unpopulated streets.  
“Come on,” He says, as he leads Harry out, “We’re getting tattoos today, okay?”

 

**

 

“You know, a boat that size is pretty badass.”  
Zayn is in the chair next to him at the tattoo parlour, and there’s a thick smell of vanilla in the air. Harry’s biting his lip, staring at the ceiling to ignore the searing hot pain travelling up and down his arm. Zayn has always told him he’ll get used to it, eventually-- but Harry’s sort-of afraid that he never will.  
Maybe that’s why he feels so detached from Louis all of the time.  
“H.” Zayn says, bringing Harry out of his deliberation.  
Zayn is getting what looks like an explosion on his forearm, but from where he’s sat, Harry can’t tell. He’s looking at Harry expectantly, because, apparently, talking to someone relieves the stress of getting a tattoo a little. Why is he looking at Harry in that way? Has Harry does something wrong?  
He frowns at Zayn. Zayn sighs.  
And then, just like quicksand, what Zayn said previously seems to sink over his thoughts, and he hums noncommittally Zayn’s way.  
“And I like the anchor, that’s a classic, right?” Zayn says, brown eyes focused on Harry’s face.  
Harry simply nods, eyes fluttering closed as the tattoo needle scrapes against a delicate edge of skin.  
Ouch.  
“But where is the rope, man? I don’t get it?” Zayn laughs, but he doesn’t see the tremble of Harry’s lips, the way his fists tighten at the sound of the word rope.  
“Okayyy.” Zayn says, realizing that he’s probably not going to get a rise out of Harry today. “I’ll leave you to mope for a bit, okay? Shit, this one hurts.”  
Harry doesn’t answer as the needle continues to scrape along his goosebumps, etching silent promises along his arm and his heart. Because he’s the boat, drifting away from Louis, with no rope to settle and keep him safe.  
And the pain he’s feeling from his tattoo will have to anchor him for now.


	3. 7

Chapter 7

“Here I am  
I'm ready  
Just say when”  
\- Andrew Ripp, When You Fall In Love

 

December, 2012

Promoting a single for weeks on end, no matter the title, or the tune, or the message is relentlessly exhausting, and Louis will stand by this astute conclusion of life right now until the day he dies.  
And yeah, even if it is ‘Little Things’, and yeah, even if it is written by a bloody friend of Louis’, it doesn’t excuse the continuous repetition of things when it comes to the press. You’d’ve thought, with three-hundred-and-sixty-five days in a year and all of the odd two hundred One Direction spend touring, that at least one interviewer would think outside of the box for a change, and ask something, whole-fucking-heartedly, aside from--  
“Are you friends with Ed Sheeran?”  
“How long have you known Ed?”  
“Aww, these fetus pictures of you two are adorable!”  
“Is it true that you’re actually brothers?”  
“Is it Led, or Edouis?”  
EdEdEdEdEdEdEd.  
And, if Louis is to be honest here, it drives him fucking crazy. He’s aching for change-- and when he says ‘aching’, he actually means ‘bursting’. Louis literally feels like he’s going to burst if one fan-- or one journalist-- or one pap-- asks him about Ed one more time.  
Don’t get him wrong here-- Louis loves the bones off the kid. But he also can’t deny the overpowering urge to slap the interviewer straight across the face when her lips part, and in the end, turns out to be all like the others--  
“So word on the street is you’ve known Ed Sheeran longer than One Direction or the X factor?”  
Fuck. Off. Literally.  
Louis grits his teeth into a smile, crosses his legs over one another. “Yes, we’ve been friends for years.”  
The interviewer bobs an extremely ginger head, and then says-- “Got any dirty laundry you want to dish on the superstar?”  
At this, Louis would always grin. “As a matter of fact, I teached him how to play guitar, and all he knows, really, even how to tie his shoes…”  
And at that, they would all laugh, usually because the boys (and the interviewer, if they’ve done their research) all know it’s the other way around. Ed, in fact, was the one who taught Louis how to play guitar when they were kids, spending lazy afternoons in Louis’ back garden when their mothers were chatting behind the scenes.  
And yeah, sometimes, he really misses Ed. But it’s not as if they have no communication at all, because there’s always the odd threatening text he gets from him once each interview airs--  
“My manager is going to kill you.”  
“Don’t ask me the next time you need a fucking single you arsehat”  
And Louis’ personal favorite: (that of which he wishes was printed, full-scale, all over his bedsheets)----  
“You stole my fucking girlfriend in 6th form and I let it slide, why don’t you let me live now u cretin”  
But the fun doesn’t stop there. When the interview is live, things get really hilarious.  
Ed calls and threatens Louis live on air, or he texts and Louis never fails to do something funny, like get up in a hurry in the middle of the interview looking falsely alarmed ---“I’m sorry lads. I have to go now, Ed is threatening to kick my ass because I said he owed me his career”, or let out a loud wince of pain because “Ed really hit it where it hurts.”.  
And, as always, Harry is amazed by Louis’ sense of humour and his sense of timing.  
Some things never change.  
**

After their performance at the Jingle Bell ball at the O2 Arena, Louis is buzzing. Like, literally, buzzing. There are stars before his eyes and a twirling in his stomach, that, he reckons, must be pride. Or heat. Or happiness. Or something.  
Regardless of the feeling, he wants to celebrate this momentous, amazing occasion with a celebration, of sorts.  
And who to celebrate with other than the band themselves?  
Louis swings open Harry’s dressing room, fingertips buzzing with adrenaline, his heart thumping. But, as Louis’ luck would so often have it, he’s not there.  
“Okay, then.” he says, to the empty room.  
But he refuses to let this small impediment ruin his visions of paradise. He swings the door shut again, travels down the corridor, to Zayn’s dressing room, and pushes the door wide open.  
“Come on Zaynie, time to get hammered!” He yells.  
As soon as he enters the room, there’s a rush of moment. Louis squints. No...that can’t be...  
“Jesus fucking Christ! Have you heard of knocking?” a voice behind the sofa shouts.  
Yep, and Louis eyes are working:-- it’s Liam.  
It all rushed past ever-so-quickly, but Louis is fairly sure-- nah, he’s positive-- that Zayn and Liam were sprawled across that sofa, like, two seconds before. And not only that-- but naked, too.  
And well, Louis is stunned. He didn’t see that one coming at all.  
“I.. I’m sorry! I’ll see myself out--” A very, very confused Louis splutters, leaving the dressing room in a hurry.  
Because-- what the fuck?  
Just what the fuck?  
Wow. Just wow. How long has this been going on? How could he be so blind to this? Were they banging from the beginning? Is it serious? Are they in love? So many questions, so few answers.  
His buzz is gone now, knocked silent by the show. So he, in all fairness, decides to go back to his hotel room.  
Harry’s got the room beside his, a snug little compartment with a tv, two extremely large sofas, and a balcony that seems to stretch on out forever. He’s there right now, Louis can tell, partly because he can hear guitar through the wall and partly because there’s a feeling in his stomach that just tells him he’s there.  
(Don’t ask. Louis is a feeling-based creature.)  
And he’s in no state to sleep, or to ponder over Zayn and Liam anymore, so he grabs his weed stash and goes knocking on Harry’s door.  
(Soft knocking, of course. Louis saves only the best of treatment for the Curl King.)  
“Hey, you,” Harry is in nothing but a towel when he opens the door, water droplets coursing down his hair and neck.  
And wow.  
Was he really playing guitar half naked?  
Louis gulps, wetting the dry gap in his throat. “Hi. So, I have weed and gossip. Which one do you prefer first?”  
Harry huffs. “Hm. M’not sure.”  
Harry has never been the gossipy type, unlike Louis. (Shame, shame.)  
“The gossip will blow your mind.” says Louis, cocking his head.  
“But…. the weed will also blow my mind, so…” Harry deliberates, a joking tone written on his lips.  
Louis makes a surprised face. “Tough crowd tonight.”  
Harry laughs, and walks back into the room. “How about I get changed while you get the drinks ready? Is that enough ‘tough crowd’ for you?”  
Louis nods, already making his way to the minibar to prepare their usuals. “It’ll do me.”  
They’ve been doing this a lot lately, now that he thinks about it: talking late after shows, tv appearances or interviews, chatting until the sun sinks down, discussing random stuff and random people. And, the truth is, after his Twitter outburst, there’s been a lot of backlash in the media and among the fans, saying Louis is homophobic and whatnot.  
And, the other truth is, that Louis took it quite badly.  
Because he’s not homophobic-- and he’s never been. And it was so hard to see people he thought liked him-- the fans, his friends, his family-- think, or suggest thinking, about him in such a way. In fact, it was worse than hard. It was destroying. Consuming. Unavoidable.  
And even Harry was awkward with him for quite some time after, making up excuses to go places that he didn’t need to, avoiding his jokes and glances.  
But they’re okay now: or, at least, that’s what Louis assumes.  
So they adopted a little ritual at night:- drinks, joint or both. Writing? Sometimes. Laughing? Always.  
And it’s nice, you know? It’s really, really fucking nice to have some damn continuity in his life for once.  
Louis only hopes Harry feels the same.  
“Do you want an umbrella thingy in your drink?” Louis calls out, head turned towards the bathroom door.  
“Is the sky blue?” Harry answers, his voice muffled by the closed door.  
Louis shakes his head.  
Dork.  
It’s a few moments later that Harry comes out of the bathroom looking like heaven: a black, thin t-shirt wrapped over his torso, obscuring his skin but not the prominent muscles beneath, thick, broad shoulders marked only by the peppery dots of water still residing on his skin, a hard, edgy jaw kissed with the promises of stubble (someday, Louis hopes), intense, pale green eyes the colour of tinted spring-water-- and lips so chapped and soft at once that Louis, for a moment, honestly questions if this human being is real.  
Because fuck, he can’t be. It’s impossible.  
Harry takes a seat on the carpet beside the mini-bar, beaming as Louis passes him a drink, beginning to talk in slow, morbid tones as Louis sits beside him. There’s a Tupperware box in front lined with weed, and a sudden, bubbling burst of excitement residing in Louis’ stomach.  
And yeah, this is good. Things are good.  
They talk for a while about nothing in particular, sharing a joint, lying beside each other on the floor looking at the ceiling. They talk about the show, their families, Niall’s latest conquest, Zayn and Liam.  
(Who are apparently a thing now, Louis remembers oh-so vividly. )  
“So, apparently, Liam and Zayn have a little something going on.” Louis says, exhaling a large puff of smoke.  
Harry huffs.  
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.  
Louis grabs the closest pillow he could find and hits Harry with it-- meshing patchwork with chestnut.  
“You knew!” Louis adds, accusingly. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”  
“S’not my secret to tell.” Harry responds, batting away the pillow with large paws.  
“But what if it doesn’t work out? How will I offer moral support?” Louis cries, putting down the pillow and pouting at Harry like he’s just announced a third world war.  
“I don’t think it’s serious, to be honest.” Harry says, smiling now that Louis has dropped his weapon--“I think they’re just fuckbuddies.”  
Louis looks absolutely dumbfounded.  
“I don’t know what to tell you, man--" Harry continues, spluttering into laughter at Louis’ innocence in the matter. “I mean, they’re enjoying it, good for them, god knows I enjoyed the show the few times I caught them at it.”  
Harry is really laughing now, head bouncing back against the minibar. He’s in the mood, Louis supposes, in which everything becomes the greatest joke ever told in all of this world’s history.  
“I suppose they’re both fit.” Louis thinks out loud, nodding along.  
Harry turns his head, huffs and gives him a curious smile. “Are you kidding? You wouldn’t talk so casually about it if you had seen Liam’s bum. I mean, wow. And Zayn’s dick. I mean, it’s massive.”  
“Oh I did. Mind you.” Louis says, nodding. “I really can’t imagine how it would fit in anyone’s bum, though, let alone Liam’s tiny tooshie...”  
They both laugh.  
Harry lets out a long, happy sigh, head resting nearly on Louis’ shoulder. “Oh trust me, it fits. If you know what you’re doing, that is...”  
Louis squeals and whacks Harry with the pillow once more, but this time, he stumbles on his knees, and falls right on top of him.  
“You’re talking out of your ass, Styles!” Louis says, dropping the pillow to tickle at Harry’s ribs, his chest, anything.  
But Harry recovers easily, sprawling out of Louis’ grip, turning so that he’s now on top of Louis, panting and grinning all at once, his curls slightly damp and allowing the room’s warm hue to flicker and curve off each accolade of water stuck there. Right now, lying here, it makes his hair appear whisked with gold.  
Louis is panting now, glancing up into those eyes, thinking too fast and not at all all at once. It’s like there’s a buzz planted straight into his head, ricocheting from the walls of his skull, making everything, aside from Harry, and Harry’s face, and Harry’s chest, dipping up and down as he breathes, a big fat blur.  
And in this state, it becomes very easy to say things that he probably shouldn’t.  
“Do you remember when you kissed me under that lamppost?”  
The words escape before he can stop them, but Louis has no time to reflect on the situation (no, sir-ee, not at all) as Harry’s head has already dipped down, pressing soft, warm lips to Louis’.  
And, well, Louis is basically fucked.  
He tastes of strawberry and warmth, the thick buzz of the alcohol becoming evermore so apparent once Louis reaches up, and tangles his hands in Harry’s hair-- but he cares not for it. He only cares about one thing in this moment, and that thing is getting as close, and as personal-- to Harry as possible.  
The kiss breaks; and then Louis is rolling them over again, so that his knees rest on either side of Harry’s crotch, bending down so that his hands can roam all over Harry’s chest, balance themselves on his shoulders, cup each side of his face as he kisses him, again and again and again.  
A whimper escapes Harry’s lips, soft and loud, cutting through Louis’ movements as his hand, absentmindedly brushes across Harry’s crotch.  
Harry’s hands fly up to his lips in embarrassment, green eyes meeting Louis’. Louis can’t help but let out a laugh at Harry’s predicament, and for a second, it seems to cut them out of the bubble of arousement they’ve found themselves in.  
“Do you want to stop?” Harry asks. His t-shirt is ruffled up his chest, his cheeks flared red.  
Louis shakes his head and dips his head down to kiss him, more intently this time, like it matters.  
And, if Louis is to be honest here, he has no idea of what the fuck he’s doing. He only knows that it feels good. Like, really, really good. He always been curious about being with a boy, but he’s never dared before now. And after the X factor, it just seemed risky, stupid, and frankly not worth it.  
But now, with this boy, it feels… right. Natural.  
Louis kicks off his shoes with one hand, skirting his fingertips up Harry’s torso with the other. He’s playing it by ear here; guided by the sound Harry makes in response to what Louis does. And as curious, soft fingertips graze across Harry’s nipples, Harry’s head buckles up, and a thick, hearty hmm escapes his throat.  
And at this, well, Louis is just delighted.  
Harry keeps moaning, eyes squinted shut, as Louis tentatively explores his body. As his wandering hands near Harry’s crotch, Louis notices that Harry’s face becomes more and more taught-- his lips wider and wider from one another, his breath more and more shaky.  
But he’s cut off once more as Harry sits up, suddenly, whipping off his shirt and grabbing either side of Louis’ cheeks. Louis is full-on sitting on Harry’s erection now, and it’s causing a blush to flare up his cheeks, and his hands to clutch tighter onto Harry’s shoulders as they kiss.  
Slender, warm fingers tug at the hem of Louis’ shirt. He pulls away from the kiss, looking up teasingly at Harry’s gentle smirk, before complying and lifting his hands above his head. They’re soon lying down again, Harry’s curls spread out on the carpet, their aching, throbbing erections touching, and odd, insanely strong jolts of pleasure fizzing up his spine.  
“I want to make you feel good.” Harry says, panting, eyes shut as Louis pulls away from the kiss. “Let me make you feel good, Lou.”  
“Yeah, yeah. Please.” Louis answers, and if he were in his right mind right now, he’d laugh at how eager he sounds.  
God, Louis. He thinks. You’re letting the cherub get the better of you.  
But that’s all the permission Harry needs. He gets up, pulls Louis beside him, guides him into the bedroom and pushes him down, onto the bed.  
Louis shuffles back, so that his head is just touching the headboard. And then, Harry is on all fours, on top of him, undressing Louis from the socks up.  
He can’t stop staring. He’s never seen Harry like this-- so unwavering, calm, and oddly predatory all at once. To Louis, he’s always been harmless.  
But now, gazing into those dark, green eyes, which are so cliched-ly filled with fucking lust that it’s mockable, he’s not too sure this is the case.  
Before he can even breathe, Harry’s mouth is on his skin, his torso, his tongue reaching Louis’ nipples and sending odd, crippling waves of pleasure across his chest and down, down to where it rests, pressing on Harry’s stomach.  
Surely it’s the high that amplifies these sensations. It must be.  
But when Harry’s lips reach Louis’ dick, he forgets all about the high.  
Because fuck--fuck--fuck--fuck--fuck---ohhhh god---  
Louis is tipping his head back, suddenly not caring about what he looks like, fingers clenching sheets and cheeks brushing with red.  
“Oh my fuck--” He yells, looking forward at both Harry’s bobbing head and the knowing, giddy smirk encompassing his face.  
It’s not refined. It’s not precise. But Harry is eager. And Louis is getting off on this: seeing his own dick going up and down Harry’s mouth, seeing in through Harry’s cheek as heaven passes before his very eyes.  
Fuck. Fuck.  
Louis lets out a noise that sounds oddly like a whimper, then, writhing as Harry circles his tongue around his tip, it progressively turns into a grunt.  
Then, it’s nothing at all.  
Harry’s mouth is gone for a split second, only to be replaced by Harry’s hand. And then Harry’s mouth is on his balls, and Louis sees stars in that moment-- he really, really fucking does-- and the planets are aligning.  
Louis is making whimpering sounds by then, shaking his head from one side to the other like a madman, completely lost in his own pleasure and Harry’s hand and tongue.  
Because fuck. Fuck this. Fuck everything else in this world.  
Harry’s finger makes the faintest move above his crack, the ghost of a fingertip grazing his hole, and then that’s it.  
Game over.  
“Harry, I’m gonna come---” Louis says, hastily, his head feeling like static-- fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-- and then, Harry has barely the time to move before a white glow coats his face, a bit of the duvet, and then, a bit of Louis.  
Despite this, Harry looks very proud of himself in this moment, all red cheeks and puffed lips and a twinkle in his eye. He’s a portrait of sex and lust.  
Louis has to hide his face in the crook of his elbow at the sight. He can’t. He just can’t.  
“Don’t hide from me, babe.” Harry says. He’s not reproachful. He's only making a request.  
So Louis complies.  
“God, you look obscene.” He says, unable to keep from a smile.  
Harry seems to take it as a compliment, because he’s radiant right now, shining at the bottom of the sheets.  
“What now?” Louis asks evenly, chest moving up and down, never breaking eye contact.  
Harry gets up. Louis is confused, but it’s short lived (thank fuck) because Harry only went to the bathroom to come back with a towel, and he’s now delicately cleaning himself and Louis up.  
“Do you need a hand with that?” Louis pants, pointing down at Harry’s crotch.  
“Maybe.” Harry huffs. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face-- or is that a smirk?  
At this point, Louis being Louis, is already beginning to feel a little self conscious naked and sprawled all over the bed. Because what is a guy do to in a situation like this, really?  
“You should know that I wouldn’t know what to do.” Louis is blushing red now, struggling to hide his increasing embarrassment with humour. “I’ve never done this before.”  
(Harry made him feel really good. He really wants to do the same, because, fuck.)  
“Me neither.” Harry answers sheepishly, breaking eye contact.  
Louis grabs his arm, trying to get Harry to look at him. “Well we could learn together.”  
Then Harry’s gone again. What the fuck?  
“Harry!”  
“Hang on. I’m getting, well... supplies.”  
Harry then comes back from the bathroom with lube, a roll of condoms and the biggest smile Louis’ ever seen.  
Jesus.  
He then unbuttons his pants ever so slowly at the foot of the bed, facing Louis.  
And, yes, he’s biting his lip, the fucker.  
Louis’ dick feels like it's filling up again at the sight. Goddamn.  
“Okay, okay.” Louis says, to no one in particular, sitting up straight and trying to balance himself.  
Because Harry’s big. Like, big big. Louis swallows thickly at the sight and salivates at the same time.  
Harry lays beside him, ushering him closer with a small “come here”, and then pressing his lips up to Louis’ ear. “If it’s ok with you, I really want you to fuck me now.”  
Louis shifts back, gets a proper look at Harry. All he sees right now is a boy who looks much younger all of a sudden, self conscious and unsure of himself, doubt clouding his eyes and causing his lips to part.  
And Louis isn’t sure of many things. Yeah, he’s sure that the sun’ll rise in the morning, and that he’ll always, always, love this job, and that he’ll always get a kick out of smoking even though he’s not supposed to.  
But none of these things have ever affected another person before. And now, looking up at Harry with soft, cautious eyes, he knows, deep down, that he never wants to see that look ever again.  
(So there’s that.)  
Louis shuffles closer, his voice in the same tone as before. “Whatever you want, love.”  
He can feel Harry’s smile growing in the crook of his own neck.  
Shit, this got heavy really fast.  
So Louis looks at him again and smiles big, so big he laughs. So Harry laughs too.  
“I don’t…” Louis says still laughing, “I still don’t know what I’m doing here.”  
“S’okay. I’ll talk you through it.” Harry is still smiling, pressing gentle, soft kisses along Louis’ neck.  
And fuck.  
Louis just knows that he has to have him.  
He flips Harry around so that he's on his stomach, chest heaving up and down, hands roaming over his shoulders and ribs. And if this isn’t paradise, Louis doesn’t know what is.  
Louis sits on the back of Harry’s thighs and ghosts his lips and hands up Harry’s spine, his shoulders, his lower back. Harry seems to up his bum without meaning to.  
“Easy tiger, I’m getting there. Might as well enjoy the ride.” Louis comments.  
Harry laughs in the crook of his elbow, embarrassed.  
Louis ghosts a finger into the crack of Harry’s bum. Harry makes a strangled sound at that, burying his head into the pillow in front of him. And then Louis is grabbing Harry’s cheeks in his hands, parting them, and pausing for a second, mesmerized at the view of Harry’s pink hole pulsing open and shut.  
Harry seems to tense a little at the attention.  
“God, you’re beautiful.” Louis says.  
Harry makes another beautiful sound at that. Louis should really start counting them.  
“Grab the lube.” Harry says, his face hidden in the pillow.  
“So bossy,” Louis says, but obeying nonetheless.  
“Pour some on your fingers and some on me.” Harry mumbles.  
“Okay.” Louis says, brow low with concentration.  
As he pours it on Harry’s hole, Harry makes another delicious sound.  
“Now, what?”  
“Now, the good part. You, humm, put one finger, on, you know.” Harry is still hiding his face.  
Louis can’t blame him, he can see his blush going to his neck.  
But he complies easily. He’s so mesmerized that without realising it, he’s brought his face up close to Harry’s bum. He really can’t help it, he wants to take a bite. And so he does. Not much, but he’s sure he’s going to leave a mark just as he enters his finger to the first knuckle.  
“Fuck, yes!”  
“Okay, then.” Louis huffs.  
(Secretly proud.)  
“Be gentle. Wait a little before adding another finger.”  
Louis can’t help teasing him then-- “You really seem to know a lot for someone who’s never done this before.”  
“I never said I didn’t do it to myself.” Harry raises his head then, sending a mischievous grin Louis’ way.  
“Jesus fuck.” Louis mumbles then, very much aroused by Harry’s statement.  
They go on like this for what feels like forever-- Harry telling him when he’s ready for another finger and Louis cataloguing every sound and every look on Harry’s face. The angle he makes with his finger sometime seem to please Harry to no end, earning him sudden bursts of sounds like “yes, right there” “again” “please please please” and even once “Oh my god, I’m in heaven”.  
And, you know, Louis likes this. The constant stream of power.  
“Okay, m’ready now. Grab the condom.”  
“Condom. Right.” Louis says, slotting out his fingers and causing a low, thick growl to echo out from Harry’s stomach.  
Harry slides a pillow beneath his stomach, arches his head further into the duvet.  
“Wait,” Louis says. “I want to see you. Turn around.”  
So Harry does, beaming all the way.  
Louis aligns himself as Harry takes him in his arms.  
“Slowly, please.” Harry asks.  
“Don’t worry love, I’m going to take care of you.”  
He does what Harry asks, and enters him very very slowly, achingly so on Louis’ part, because Harry feels so good.  
Fuck.  
Harry inhales loudly, bottom lip trembling.  
“Alright?” Louis asks, removing a handful of curls from Harry’s sweaty forehead, searching his gaze for any sign of discomfort.  
Harry nods. He can feel Harry’s heartbeat echoing his own on his chest.  
And in this moment, everything is perfect.  
“You can move now.”  
And so he does.  
He’s slowly rocking his hips to Harry’s now, eyes fluttering shut, changing angles ever so often, trying to coax out the beautiful sound from Harry’s lips once more.  
“There, there!” Harry fists the duvet.  
Harry is completely lost in his own pleasure now, eyes shut tight, lips parted, cheeks and chest flushed. And as he starts touching himself, the sight alone is threatening to send Louis over the edge, so he pushes Harry’s hand away and starts rubbing him just the way he would like it himself.  
A few tugs later and Harry is coming all over Louis’ hand and his own stomach, obscuring inked marks with white. As Harry clenches around his length, eyes shut, mouth parted, Louis comes too.  
And then, there’s silence.  
Louis stays on Harry’s sticky stomach for a while, slowly coming down from his high, and from his orgasm, and all things Harry.  
He feels like there’s static in his head, causing his ears to ring and his mouth to dry.  
Because, fuck.  
They’re both too exhausted to move much, but Louis still manages to dispose of the condom and grab the towel Harry used on him previously to wipe them both clean.  
They don’t really talk after that. Louis comes back to bed, covers them both with the fluffy duvet, facing each other but not quite touching. Harry instantly falls asleep, eyes tugging shut, cheeks that of paradise.  
It takes Louis a little longer to drift off; his head is filled with so much, and his mind can sort out so little. Eventually, he manages to find solace in Harry’s wavering chest, and close his mind off so in the end, there’s nothing but Harry.

**

The next morning, Harry wakes up alone.  
Out of the window, the sky is peppered with white, rocky hills of future rain, clambering up the blue and obscuring it from the horizon up. Beyond that, trickles of finer, thinner cloud ark way up into the sky, passages of flights long past, planes long sunken into the horizon, journeys finished and memories made.  
There's a weak beam of sunlight falling from the clouds and directly onto the pillow, right where Louis should be. Harry tries to fight the flush of sorrow that rushes up his body at the sight: but nonetheless, rises from the bed with a sad feeling in his stomach.  
He's not bitter, per say, that Louis left him alone this morning. It's just a little confusing, is all. If someone had told him yesterday that he was going to have sex with Louis last night, he would never have believed it, okay?  
He gets up and goes towards the bathroom, and in passing, sees the souvenirs from the night before. The weed stash, the empty glasses on the floor, the slight pain in his bum.  
And fuck.  
It's only now that it sinks in: the truth of what happened last night.  
He lost his virginity. To Louis. The boy he's desired for years. And it was… it was wonderful. It was sweet and tender. Louis was so gentle and so--- like---“there” with him, anchored in the present.  
Louis looked at him like he set the stars in the sky.  
Meeting his own gaze in the mirror, Harry can't help but smile at himself, the butterflies in his stomach rising to his chest and his heart and his throat and all the places inbetween. And yeah, it feels pretty good-- and yeah, for the first time in ages, Harry actually... Likes the present. As if he froze this moment in time, he wouldn't mind the ways things are.  
Breaking himself out of his conundrum, he shakes his head, steps into the shower, and prepares himself for a whole new day.  
Starting, of course, with a breakfast with Liam Payne in the cafe nearby.

**

“So. How did Louis take it?” Liam asks, as soon as Harry enters the coffee shop, dressed up in a denim blazer and chinos.  
“Huh?” Harry is a little alarmed at this.  
Because how does Liam know? Did he talk to Louis? What did Louis say?  
“Louis. Last night. He caught Zayn and me going at it.” Liam continues. “Didn’t he tell you? I could have sworn he was in your room last night. Huh. Weird.”  
Harry's stomach lurches. ‘Ummm...”  
He’s stalling, debating over telling him the truth about Louis. He feels like he needs to tell someone before he explodes-- and right now, his stomach is in shambles.  
His first pick, of course, to tell the truth to, would be Niall--- but he clearly doesn’t know anything about men, or gay sex, or feelings for men.  
(Or women, for that matter.)  
And right now, Liam is looking more and more like a good substitute Niall.  
(If Harry squints, he's sure he can almost pretend that the boy in front of him has blue eyes. And blonde hair.)  
“Well, he was.” Harry finally speaks, a lump in his throat.  
Liam doesn't seem to notice. “Aaaaand? Is he freaking out?”  
“No. I’m pretty sure he was impressed. And… inspired. ”  
Yep. That’s a pretty good word to describe it.  
“Insp..? What the hell are you on about?” Liam asks, confused and apparently miles away from the truth.  
Is Harry going to have to spell it out for him?  
“Well, he sure was when his dick was in my mouth.” He says.  
And then, he instantly regrets it.  
But now it's there. He blurted it. It’s out there. This is not a fragment of his imagination anymore.  
Liam is just staring at Harry, glancing up at him with wide, pale eyes. His mouth keeps opening and shutting in little circles, his hands stuck to the table, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.  
And frankly, it’s a little irritating. Is it such a foreign concept to Liam? Harry and Louis? There’s quite literally thousands of pages dedicated to them on the internet.  
“I’m speechless.” Liam huffs. “That little fucker. Is that why he broke up with Hannah then?”  
Harry almost stands straight up from the table. “HE BROKE UP WITH HANNAH??  
Liam whistles. “Now, I’m confused.”  
“Tell me about it.” Harry sighs.  
What the actual fuck?  
“I’m not sure I’m the guy to talk to about this.” Liam shifts in his chair. “We need Zayn.”  
“Wh…?” Harry attempts, but Liam is already on the phone.  
“Zayneeeee. Come to the cafe at the corner right now. It’s an emergency!”  
Harry puts his face in his hands at that.  
What even is his life?

**

“So, you had sex.” Zayn sums up.  
“Mmmhmmm.” Harry nods.  
“Like actual, proper sex.” Zayn continues, unperturbed.  
Harry wants to curl up in a corner and die.  
“Was it good?” Liam interjects.  
More nodding.  
“And you didn’t know he wasn’t with Hannah anymore?”  
Harry’s getting irritated again, thinly veiled anger licking up the walls of his stomach.  
“Yeah, what the fuck is that about?” Harry asks, frown curling up into a grimace.  
“I don’t know, man. He told us right away."  
“Didn’t seem phased about it, either.” Zayn rubs his index finger around the rim of his coffee cup.  
Harry watches the movement with wide eyes. “Why would Louis hide it from me, though?”  
“Maybe he has feelings for you?” Liam offers.  
It’s not a question, more a statement. But it’s more teasing than an actual known fact to Liam. Harry knows this, and he knows much else, but he’s still glad he can hear it out loud.  
“Maybe, he’s been pining over you for ages. Maybe he’s in looooove..." Liam continues, and Harry laughs.  
“Stop it. It’s not funny.” Zayn then says, face hard all of a sudden.  
And Liam immediately sombers, eyebrows sinking, lips pouting.  
Harry can tell something is going on between the two of them, but his head is too full of Louis to care right now, the darkness behind his eyes filled with blue, a fluttering in his stomach that's too hard to explain, or control.  
“Look, you can’t pressure him, alright?” Zayn adds, more softly this time.  
Liam softens at Zayn's tone, reassured. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure Louis hasn’t figured himself out like you have.”  
Harry came out to Zayn and Liam just a few weeks prior, coincidently or not right after catching them having sex in a venue’s bathroom.  
“Well he seemed pretty gay to me last night, so…” Harry shrugs, shoulders sinking into his chest.  
Zayn sighs, gaze blunt, eyelids low.  
“Look, I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’re a kind soul. The love at first sight kind. The forever type.” Zayn leads forwards. “He’s just not there yet.”  
“Wait a minute. Did you talk to him?” Harry is alarmed again now.  
“NO! No. “ Zayn shakes his head, erratically. “Well yes, I saw him this morning-- but he didn’t say anything about this, I swear.”  
Harry waits for him to expand.  
“It’s just a vibe I’m getting, alright? He looked…” Zayn pauses. “Well, I don’t want you to get your hopes up, alright?”  
“Okay.” Harry mumbles.  
Minutes, small talk and a rushed, anxious coffee later and Harry is leaving the cafe, the wind tousling his curls, his chin tucking into his collarbones, and a sickening, oddly exciting revelation rolling around in his head.  
He’s in love with Louis Tomlinson.  
Not only in love, but very much so. The type of so that’s inescapable; the type that wraps itself around your throat and curls up in your stomach. He always knew but somehow, it feels much more real and tangible now.  
And truth be told, he feels less than happy about it.  
He’s never felt this way before, not about anybody, and it scares him. It scares him how deeply he’s fallen in so long, and it scares him that Louis might not feel the same. That he’s going to be in this alone, and the open heart in his chest is eventually going to become an open wound.  
As he crosses the road, sleepy tendrils of sunshine slipping onto the pavement and casting warm shadows across the street, he thinks over what Zayn spoke in his head, and begins to realize what he feared all along, what he first panicked about upon waking up alone this morning--  
\--Louis isn’t ready.

**

♫ If I die young, bury me in satin….♫  
It’s evening now, the former warmth washed away by cold air and unspoken words. Harry lets out a long sigh as he sinks into the sofa at HQ, watching the sun lazily sink below the clouds, headphones over his curls and a pleasant, yet unsettled feeling in his stomach. The sunset is casting pink and red shadows across the carpet.  
♫ Lay me down on a bed of roses….♫  
His pen is doodling jagged movements across the margin of his notebook. He hasn’t seen Louis today, not yet. But he’s not entirely sure if he wants to.  
♫ Sink me in the river at dawn...♫  
The air is cold, brushing bumps across Harry’s skin, but it’s okay. He doesn’t want to move.  
♫ Send me away with the words of a love so--- ♫  
“This is none of your fucking business, Liam! I can’t believe he told you on the first place!”  
A voice cuts through the dark, causing Harry to jump and tug his headphones from his ears. The calm tone of the song is strewn to the floor as he listens, heart thumping, the dark of the room perking his fright.  
He knows instantly that it’s Louis yelling, knows instantly that the rushed, loud footsteps approaching the room that Harry’s in is Louis, knows that the jiggling of the door handle and the harsh, loud breathing as the door opens is Louis.  
And he knows that the furious stare, the clenched fists, although how uncharacteristic they may seem, also belong to Louis.  
Fuck.  
He stands from the sofa, heart thumping, like a deer caught in headlights, ready to offer an explanation or an apology or something, anything--  
But Louis is already in front of him, standing tall, an accusing finger pointed squarely at Harry’s nose and danger, hot and furious, burning in his eyes. He’s short of words, but the silence says more than words ever could. Harry is reeling.  
“I can’t…” Louis is panting, his jaw taught--- “You’re…”  
They’re interrupted by their manager’s brisk voice, cutting through the madness to inform them that their late-night radio interview is starting.  
Harry couldn’t be more grateful.

**

It’s lucky this interview is not filmed, partially because Louis spends half of it jolting on his stool, fists clenched on his jeans, and the other half cutting vile glares at Harry, reminding him just how pissed he is. Harry can’t even look at him without a sick, edgy feeling rocking up his stomach.  
“Does this band have any secrets? People want to know.” The interviewer asks.  
“Nah. None. This band really can’t keep a secret.” Louis answers, albeit viciously.  
It could’ve been understood as banter or playfulness. But Harry can recognise the direct jab, and would’ve been hurt less if Louis had slapped him.  
Liam just frowns.

**

“I really don’t want to talk right now.” Louis says, when Harry approaches him after the interview, all bundled nerves and confusion.  
“Come on, now.” Harry answers, gently grabbing him by the arm.  
“Don’t touch me!” Louis suddenly spits, like he’s in pain, causing Harry to lurch back, withdraw his hand and step away all at once.  
And the look Louis gives him afterwards, the frightened, disgusted glare, paired with the arched hand, like Harry’s hurt him, suddenly becomes all too much.  
He feels as if something has broken inside. It’s like a storm of bulls trampling over his stomach when Louis backs away, shadows ebbing onto his face, and an unsure, parted gasp on his face. It makes his heart ache, pounding furiously in his chest, and a rush of anger and pain and guilt overcome his senses.  
For a few seconds, it’s like he can’t breathe. His throat is dry, his vision blurred.  
And then, he’s turning away, embarrassed, walking on down the corridor, the thought that he caused Louis to look like that, the thought that he caused Louis to sound like that--- forever tugging on his mind.

**

That night and every night after that for a week, Louis doesn’t come to Harry’s room.  
Instead, Louis goes out every chance he gets with Niall, who seems a little oblivious to the tension surrounding the band.  
They don’t speak.

**

After a few weeks apart (and Christmas and New Year's at home) things seem to quieten down. They pick up the tour like nothing happened, never talking about their one night stand, ignoring each other like enemies, awkwardly avoiding poses in photos, making stupid, stupid excuses to avoid touching or sitting beside each other.  
And it’s dumb. And Harry hates it. But he has no idea how else to proceed.  
“He has to figure it out by himself, Haz.” Zayn keeps telling him.  
And he’s right, Harry supposes. But it still doesn’t prepare him for the hurricane of Louis that ushers him right on his doorstep the next night, bang on 3:00a.m, wrapped up in nothing but a denim jacket and a desperate visage of lust.  
Harry barely has time to say anything as he opens the door, and even less when Louis’ lips are on his, intoxicating, hands roaming everywhere, rendering Harry breathless and delighted at the same time.  
Because he knows this isn’t a one night stand. And he knows, with a heavy heart, that Louis probably doesn’t think the same.  
But it doesn’t stop it from feeling real.  
I missed you, Harry thinks, as lips on lips become lips on neck; door slamming shut almost as an afterthought.  
I’m sorry I told them, Harry thinks, as Louis pushes him on the bed, warm palms meeting bare skin.  
I wish you’d love me back, Harry thinks, as Louis tugs down his boxers, hot breath ghosting over thighs and knees and legs.  
If only you would--- Harry begins to think, but then, he’s cut off, just as Louis’ lips form a circle around his dick, and the rest of the world evaporates into warm, good static.

**

It’s nothing like their first time. It’s sex, Harry guesses. And yeah, it was wonderful, and yeah, he figures they both enjoyed it-- but the light in Louis’ eyes isn’t there anymore. He just doesn’t feel--- like himself.  
“I’m enjoying this.” Louis speaks up, eventually, curling up in the bed beside Harry, all sweaty shoulders and whispered voice. “Maybe we should keep doing it.”  
Harry is not stupid enough to believe it’s anything other than what it is, and as he looks down at Louis, all rushed feelings and unhidden guilt, the truth suddenly becomes visible to him.  
He’s asking Harry to be his fuckbuddy.  
And Harry, as stupid and as moral-destroying as it feels, can’t help but say yes.

**

It’s not enough, but it’s something.  
Louis comes back often after their second night together, cheery grins, warm attitude. Harry feels, somehow, like they’ve reached some kind of unspoken understanding about it. They’re still friends. So they do what friends do. They go out, they shop, they laugh. And then some.  
Zayn seems to have picked up on something, but Harry doesn’t say anything. The image of Louis’ fury the last time he opened his mouth about it still haunts him.  
The angry, hypocritical, fragile Louis haunts him. But it’s okay, he guesses.  
Because he’s not ready. And Harry knows this.  
Sometimes he forgets about this predicament, and it’s then, in those rushed, carefree moments, that things become alright.  
When Louis whispers naughty things in his ear in the middle of a show, he forgets.  
When Louis changes a lyric to make it suggestive, he forgets.  
When Louis shows up at 2am, all happiness and sunshine and clothing all over the floor, Harry forgets.  
And sometimes, it’s okay to forget for a while. Harry will take all he can get.

**

“Louis.” Simon sighs, sitting down into a beige leather chair, crossing his hands on the table. “Louis, Louis, Louis.”  
This one on one meeting hasn’t even started and Louis is already very irritated, jaw tightening with every slow, careful breath Simon lets out, foot threatening to tap on the floor. He’s sat on a stool in front of the desk and he’s sure it’s that way so that Simon seems even taller than him-- but right now, all he can think of are reasons why he’s here. He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?  
Oh God. What if Harry’s said something? Maybe he doesn’t want to see Louis anymore. Maybe they’re kicking him out of the band.  
Louis hopes it isn’t that. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, he begs that it isn’t that.  
But when Simon clears his throat once more, retrieving something from beneath the desk, Louis can’t help but let his imagination wonder.  
Oh, fuck.  
He looks at Simon, tries to single out any obvious reasons for his presence here. He doesn’t look guilty, or angry, or anything...he just looks regretful.  
Which, in Louis’ world, is never good.  
He lets out a shaky sigh and shuffles on his seat. “Simon?”  
“I’m going to have to ask you to tone the ‘bromance’ down a little, it’s getting out of hand.” Simon speaks. In his left hand, there’s a folder. He pushes it forwards.  
Louis reaches out, breath bated, and opens it.  
It’s filled to the brim with photos. Just photos. Concert footage, glances, handholds, smiles, interviews, appearances, any scenario in the past two months where him and Harry have looked…close. Happy.  
Like a couple.  
Louis gulps. His throat is constricting, tendrils of confusion and fear making their way up to his eyes.  
“It was less of a problem when you were with Hannah…” Simon sighs.  
Great. Now he’s bringing up Hannah.  
Louis grits his teeth, letting out a sigh from behind them.  
Why isn’t Simon having this conversation with Harry? Or Zayn? Or Liam?  
If he were a dick, he’d bring it up.  
But Louis is not a dick--- well, not in this particular moment, anyway. Plus, he if he’s going to be honest with himself, he kinda already knows that he’s the weakest link when this particular subject is brought up.  
But that’s because he’s not gay, alright?  
There’s nothing wrong with being gay, or anything.  
He just isn’t.  
And frankly, he doesn’t want people to think that he is, right now. When the band first formed, he couldn't care less what people thought. But now that all the lines have been blurred with Harry, he just doesn’t know anymore. It’s getting complicated.  
And Louis doesn’t do complicated. He doesn’t like it.  
“What do you have in mind?” Louis asks, already knowing-- and fearing-- the answer.  
Simon sheds a snarky smile. “I know someone who’ll be perfect for you.”

**

It’s dark, but only slightly. Sprinkles of indigo splatter the sky like discarded, dry paint, and beneath them, the sunset is clear to see. Harry watches all of this through his murky window, face pressed up against the glass, knees tucked into his chest.  
He’s at home right now, and it’s quiet. His mum had left out earlier to go shopping; and now, he is all alone.  
Normally, moments like these are few and precious. When you’re famous, there are few times in your life where things are silent and you’re not constantly in the presence of someone else, whether it be management personnel, fans, or paparazzi.  
But right now, Harry is kind of sick of feeling alone. Louis has ruined the feeling for him.  
He turns away from the window, his breath leaving a fuzzy glow against the glass, and sinks into the duvet. This is his childhood bedroom-- long worn old by years of absence, dust clinging to the ceiling and on the small paper chains beside the window like memories long lost. He remembers a lot of things about this place-- trudging dirt along the carpet after a won football match, fighting with Gemma over spilt Lego on the carpet, showing his friends around the place like some big, exclusive tour guide.  
Things like that make him smile. Because it’s not about the memory, it’s about the feeling. He wants to feel that way again: young, happy, and free.  
But right now, he doubts he will.  
Right now, he feel caged, and worn, and unwanted.  
Because he’s getting a beard. Louis is getting a fucking beard. Right under Harry’s nose, at that.  
He doesn’t know how to feel or what to say. It was a sunny Sunday morning that Louis had dropped the bomb, casually stating that he’d met someone called Eleanor, and it was a sunny Sunday morning that Harry had realized that his world was falling apart.  
Because how dare he. How fucking dare he.  
A small whimper leaves Harry’s lips, and for what isn’t the first time in weeks, he is hit by a wave of loneliness. Because he is alone. And he’s been cast aside, left on the shore to die, while Louis sails off into the horizon.  
Fuck him. Really, really, fuck him.  
It’s not long before he’s full on crying, and not long before his fingers are skirting along phone numbers, latching a long-settled feeling of revenge in his stomach.  
Because fuck it. Two can play at Louis’ dumb little game.  
“Simon? The Taylor thing? Set it up.”

**

Louis and Harry are playing heterosexuals. And if it’s a game, Harry really doesn’t know of he’s winning or not.  
He’s not even sure if the Taylor thing was a good idea. Sure, it was mildly pleasurable to see Louis’ face when he found out, eyes widening, lips parting, but aside from that? Harry is beginning to seriously question his motives.  
For starters, the press has completely lost it’s shit. He can’t go anywhere without a world of paparazzi following him now, let alone peek out of the window. It’s a PR thing, sure, but it’s suffocating. And he kind of misses his privacy now that it’s no longer there.  
Secondly, he has to pretend he’s straight. The idea shouldn’t feel that strange to him, but whenever he holds Taylor’s hand, or pretends to laugh at a joke for a photo, it’s like he’s lying him to himself. And if there’s one thing he hates, it’s dishonesty. So it might not last for as long as he wants it to.  
Thirdly, Louis is a mess of angry stares and disgust whenever Taylor is mentioned in interviews, or at concerts, or by fans. Harry is not entirely sure if he likes it or not, but there’s no doubt in his mind that somehow, seeing Louis being this damn hypocritical and this jealous all at once gives him some kind of kick. He feels like, for once, he’s got the upper hand in everything.  
But after two months, when all the fun has died down, when Louis is nothing but miserable and Harry’s not that much better, he breaks up with Taylor. Harry is happy to lose this battle, because if he learned anything from Louis’ jealousy, it’s that he might just win the war.


	4. 9

Chapter 9

“Nobody sees, nobody knows  
We are a secret, can't be exposed  
That's how it is, that's how it goes  
Far from the others, close to each other”  
\- Zara Larsson, Uncover

 

March, 2013

 

Somehow, the band has roped themselves into going to Justin Bieber’s birthday party, of all things, a day into their break.  
Which is great.  
They flew straight to LA in Justin’s private jet, surrounded for the best part of the journey by golden armchairs, plastic potted palm trees, and an on-flight attendant that kept eyeing Zayn up like fresh meat.  
Niall couldn’t stop gossiping the whole way there. “I’m telling ya, when Justin parties, he parties big.”  
And so he is right. Planted squarely in front of the huge, six-decked L.A. mansion lies not only an immense, glittering swimming pool, already stacked to the brim with people, but a ginormous, flashing white tent with live music playing inside. Beside that, there’s a huge DJ table and what Harry is sure is an entire store’s worth of food, drinks, and drugs all piled up in bowls. There’s a hot tub basically teeming with bikini-clad girls, a champagne fountain with several people stood around it, mouths wide, and a dancefloor-slash-red carpet that curves around the whole thing.  
Golden balloons are floating up into the beyond when One Direction arrive, several guests taking their shots at trying to pop them, throwing beer bottles into the air and giggling wildly when they shatter down onto the grass. The mansion, behind the front garden, is lit up in every possible colour of the rainbow-- and behind it’s thick windows, even more people can be seen beyond the lights.  
When they finally single out Justin from the vivacious crowd, he’s already high off his ass with God knows what. But, nonetheless, he joins them with an easy smile.  
“Welcome, my friends. As they say, mi casa es su casa. Help yourself to the bar, the drugs or the girls.” He slurs, before scampering off into the crowd at a speed that makes Harry almost certain that he’s rushing off to the toilets.  
(He won’t say he’s glad to see him gone out loud, of course. Anyone that refers to girls that way has got something wrong with them.)  
But after two hours, several drinks and a long, heated conversation with Lily Allen about the longevity of dolphin preservation, he can’t say he’s not enjoying himself.  
And that wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Louis can’t keep his eyes off him.  
No, sir-ee.  
He soon spots Nick in the crowd, chatting aimlessly beside Greg James.  
“Heyyyyy! Grimmy, I’m so happy to see you here!” Harry says, buzzed and happy, wrapping both of them in a big hug.  
“Styles! How have you been?” Nick beams. “Where’s your partner in crime?”  
And just like that-- like he’s being summoned--- Louis is there.  
“Ahh, hello dick!” Louis says as a greeting, tipsy and semi joking, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Someone call me?”  
What?  
“Aww, hi there, Grouchy Smurf!” Nick is beaming back, eyebrows raised. “How’s the weather down there?”  
Harry would retaliate, but yeah, Louis didn’t need to begin swearing in the first place.  
Louis simply scowls at Nick’s statement, brows furrowed. “Fuck you.”  
“Are you offering?” Nick laughs. “Because you're just the right height to suck my dick, you know, mate--”  
“Is everything alright here, maties?” Ed appears just before Louis completely explodes. His face is a dark red as Ed slings a careful arm around Louis’ shoulders, slowly tugging him away.“Why don’t we let Grimmy and Harry catch up while we finish our beer pong tournament, Lou?”  
Louis lets Ed tow him away, sourly glaring at Nick the whole time.  
Nick then turns to Harry, eyes glittering. “Mate, what the fuck was that all about?”.  
“Uhm.. I don’t know.” Harry shrugs. “You were mean, though.”  
“He started it!” Nick shrugs with him, reaching over the bar.  
And through the loud and the light and the dark, Harry supposes he’s right.

**

It’s hours later. Ed and Louis are crowded beside the ping pong table-- no, wait-- half slumped beside the ping pong table, and Louis is feeling especially lonely. They’ve been watching a pair of drunks try to beat each other at ping pong for the past two hours, and honestly, it’s not the best thing Louis’ ever seen.  
For starters, the guy on the left thinks he’s playing golf, and for second...well…  
Did Harry’s hair always look that long?  
“Are you even listening to me?” Ed perks up.  
“Mmmm?” Louis shakes his head.  
Shit. He was staring at Harry again, wasn’t he?  
“What’s gotten into you?” Ed says, following Louis’ gaze. “What’s your deal with Nick?”  
“You mean beside being his Dicky self? Nothing at all.”  
“You talked to him for like thirty seconds before going full Tommo on him! And you can’t stop staring at them now.” Ed shuffles in his seat, clutching his drink cup close. “Frankly, I feel a little left out. I never see you anymore, and when I do, you pull this shit.”  
“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Louis sighs. “I’m looking out for Harry, he deserves so much better.”  
“Shame.” Mischief washes over Ed’s face. “They look so cute together.”  
“What? No. Like Harry would ever bang that-- that poser.” Louis huffs, nervous and sick at the very idea.  
Ed doesn’t look convinced.  
“He’s too tall! He’s ancient! And don’t get me started on that hair! My God, that quiff is bloody ridiculous. Just look at him! He dresses like a grandpa, for fuck’s sake!”  
Ed looks a little surprised at that, eyes widening, like he just realised something.  
“His accent is shitty. And have you ever heard his show? It sucks balls! Harry deserves so much better than that!” Louis rants, animatedly.  
Then Louis notices Ed’s look, and feels instantly uneasy, his passion gone instantly.  
Because he knows this look.  
Ed whistles.  
Louis looks guilty, and a little like he’s been caught elbow deep in the cookie jar. He also feels drunk, which is not good, as he always has tendencies to spill when he’s tipsy, and Ed knows him way too well.  
“Don’t say anything. Please.”

**

“My God.” Nick says, indignant, to nobody in particular. “If he keeps staring, I’m pretty sure his eyeballs are going to to fall out of their fucking sockets. Look at him! I just want to, like, put 'im in a shoebox.”  
Greg, who joined the conversation a little earlier, simply laughs.  
“He’s not staring at yoooou.” He says then, shaking his head and pointing in the direction of Harry, who looks not only mildly uncomfortable, but slightly nauseous.  
“Wh-- Oh. Ohhhhh.” realisation seems to strike Nick like a lightning bolt. “This is gold. This is absolutely perfect.”  
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, please don’t.” Harry says, pleading. He knows Nick too well.  
“Greg, my man, I have the idea of the century.” Nick beams.  
“Please, please don’t.” Harry whines now.  
“Why not?”  
And Harry doesn’t answer. How could he ever explain the mystery that is Louis Tomlinson to people that haven’t direct access to his psyche?  
“Let’s have a Styles sandwich!” Nick beams.  
“Yeahhhhh!” Greg perks up.  
And then Greg and Nick are both cornering him-- Greg to his front, Nick on his back, guiding him straight to the pool and diving into it.  
The three of them are laughing when they hit the surface. Everyone is cheering up, the cold seeming to kick in some kind of third sense.  
Well, to everyone but Louis, who looks like he’s just had the worst epiphany known to man.  
Harry rises up from below the water and splashes Nick in the face.  
“You two are the absolute worst.”

**

Harry is dripping on the carpet of one of Justin’s spare rooms, tipsy and shivering, helping himself to a towel and some dry sweats in the dark, when he hears faint knocking on the door.  
“Hey.” Louis says, when Harry opens the door, wearing a sheepish smile.  
He looks so small in this moment, so--- fragile. His eyes are clear and sharp behind long eyelashes, hair all messy, as always, and the denim jacket he’s wearing making his outline look….soft.  
So unbelievably soft.  
“Hey.” Harry answers.  
He has a towel around his neck, and borrowed trousers on his bottom half. The rest of him is bare, pool water still dripping from his hair and onto his swallows, his butterfly, his v-line---  
Louis gulps, draws his gaze up, and then says-- “Can we talk for a minute?”  
Harry opens the door wider as an invitation, and then takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Louis is still quite tipsy, but he manages to sit beside him, thighs aligning, but not quite touching. The room has a ridiculously sparkly rug strewn across the floor and monkey lamp in the corner, shedding small amounts of warm light across the walls and onto Harry’s face.  
He looks so beautiful right now. Golden.  
“What came over you earlier with Grimmy?” He asks, breaking the brief silence.  
“Ugh.” Louis lies down on the bed, eyes on the ceiling. “I can’t understand for the life of me why the two of you are friends.”  
“Of course you can’t.” Harry huffs, lying down beside Louis as well.  
“That hair! Urghh.” Louis says, wringing his hands in the air, and Harry laughs because Louis is so undoubtedly transparent. “I want to set it on fire.”  
God, what an idiot.  
Harry loves him.  
“Uh-uh.”  
“And that voice, blahhh.” Louis laughs.  
“Horrendous.” Harry complies, grinning.  
When the laughter dies down, Louis adds-- “You like him more than me.”  
He says it like it’s a joke, but Harry knows better. He turns on his side, facing Louis, looking at right at him, so that emerald meets ice. His face is solemn.  
“That would never happen in a million years.”  
“Really?” Louis appears doubtful.  
“Really.”  
Louis shrugs. “I suppose I’m younger.”  
“And funnier.”  
“And I have a sense of style, thank you very much.” Louis shudders.  
“And more importantly, you have a sense of Styles.”  
Louis just looks at him. “My God, you’re the worst.”  
Harry breaks out into a tiny chuckle.  
“I’m buying you a sense of humour for you birthday next year.” Louis says, shaking his head.  
They laugh.  
Louis puts his fingers on his chin. “I suppose he is fit, though.”  
“Get out of here.” Harry scoffs, pushing at Louis’ side. “You’re just fishing for compliments now!”  
“I don’t know about that.”  
“Wh-- I mean, have you seen yourself, Lou? You’re fit.” Harry is scandalised. “Those thighs, your eyes and…”  
“Hahhhhh.” Louis interrupts him then, eyes back on the ceiling. “Somebody needs to tell Eleanor that.”  
He looks rather far away, blue eyes foggy, lips parted.  
Harry sobers a bit at the mention of her name, but doesn’t want to kill the good mood and their buzz. “M’sorry to hear that.”  
(He’s really not.)  
“I haven’t got laid in weeks.” Louis says, voice empty.  
Harry gives him a blank look.  
“I miss it.” Louis continues. “The intimacy. Being buried deep into someone’s heat and just pounding into them.”  
His voice is getting lower and softer now, causing something to turn in Harry’s stomach. He gulps.  
“Tell me.” Harry says, and it’s barely audible.  
Louis turns on his side and faces Harry, all traces of his smile gone. There’s something about his face that’s oddly predatorial.  
“Having someone’s mouth on me. Hearing them whimper and beg.” Louis says the last word in Harry’s ear.  
“Uhu.”  
Harry’s no longer capable of forming words anymore, it seems.  
“Tasting the sweat, the sweetness of their skin.” Louis put his hand on Harry’s thigh then, squeezing gently.  
A soft whimper escapes Harry, and before he knows it, he’s holding onto a pillow like his life depends on it, carefully hiding his growing erection.  
“Feeling your release building up in your spine and gut and just giving in.”  
Louis squeezes Harry’s thigh again, with more intent this time. Harry makes an exquisite sound, voice humming low in his throat. He can’t look away.  
They lock eyes. Louis makes no movement towards Harry, giving him a choice.  
But there’s none. As soon as Harry opened the door, he knew where this was going. So he grabs Louis’ neck with his hand, tugs Louis’ head to his, and waits until they’re millimetres apart before saying---  
“Are you going to put your money where your mouth is?”

**

“Fuck, you’re tight.”  
Harry’s on his hands and knees, splayed out in front of Louis, eyes shut, fists taking ahold of the duvet. He’s almost certain he’d be shaking if it weren’t for the warmth in the room, the every movement Louis makes causing his legs to shudder that little bit further, threatening to spill him over the edge. He arches his back as Louis increases his pace, hands on the crook of Harry’s waist, small, laboured breaths leaving his lips.  
“It’s been a long time since someone fucked me.” Harry says, groan blurring his words.  
Louis envelops him from behind, lifting him up so Harry’s sitting in his lap, his back pressed to Louis’ chest, his neck and ear easily accessible.  
“Are you telling me someone else gets to touch you?” Louis says, low voice in Harry’s ear, moving Harry up and down with his hips and hands, causing small, hoarty whimpers to leave his lips.  
It shouldn’t be this hot. Louis is not single. Louis and Harry are very much not together. Harry is allowed to do what he wants. Louis and his possessive nature can fuck off.  
(It’s still hot, though.)  
“No, no one, just you, only you, always.” Harry stammers, wet, sweaty curls pressing against Louis’ collarbones, head rocking into the crook of Louis’ neck.  
Part of him is a little ashamed of the admission, but it’s still true.  
“Good.” Louis continues to bounce him, his movements slow but steady, their heartbeats melding into one. “You’re doing so well, love.”  
Love. Harry hasn’t heard this particular term of endearment from Louis in a very long time. In fact, the last time he heard it was the first time they ever had sex.  
Louis certainly didn’t call him this the brief period of time they were fuck buddies.  
But now, the light in Louis’ eyes seems to be back again, the warmth enveloping the blue, the emotion close and tender. It’s almost like….everything is fine. But despite this, Harry doesn’t want to get his hopes up with him. They’re not fuck buddies, they’re not strictly friends---- but they’re not together either.  
This boy can be so goddamn confusing.  
He turns his neck, breath caught still in his throat, and for the first time in months, Harry kisses Louis, and lets the rest of the world and his doubts fade into static.

**

So they had a one night stand. Again.  
When Harry wakes up, he’s buried in a mess of sheets. Foggy, painful memories clatter into his head like rapid gunfire, and as he realizes that he’s not only very, very hungover, but very sore and also a little sick, the rest of the night begins to make a whole lot more sense.  
Golden balloons. Cold air.  
Stoplights, and...uhh…bubblegum?  
Why can he taste bubblegum?  
Maybe he’s just ill. There’s a pounding in his head, a dryness in his throat, and...oh God, why does his ass hurt?  
Did he hurt himself at Justin’s party or something?  
Justin.  
Justin’s party.  
He remembers that they left the party soon after something happened, but Louis didn’t join him in his hotel room. He remembers feeling disappointed at this.  
But now, he doesn’t really feel disappointed anymore.  
Why is that?  
What’s going on?  
He feels moderately calm as he clambers out of bed, but as the rest of the memories of the night before begin to seep in, he can’t deny the sudden lurch in his stomach as he begins to digest---  
Louis tasted like bubblegum.  
\---Louis.  
Louis happened last night.  
Again.

 

**

“Where did you go last night? You disappeared all of a sudden.” Niall says, leaning over the coffee table, still as oblivious as ever when it comes to Harry and Louis, it seems.  
“Uhm… I was around. You know how these things go.” Louis shifts in his chair.  
Zayn squints at Louis’ response. It’s annoying, and sometimes, Louis feels as if Zayn is staring straight through him.  
Which, he of course, he knows is impossible.  
Right?  
He shifts in his chair once more. Zayn is still staring.  
Oh, fuck off.  
Louis reaches for his coffee cup, irritated. Liam perks up from beside Zayn, all ruffled hair and fresh, morning happiness.  
“Where’s Harry?” He practically chirps.  
He can fuck off too, for all Louis cares.  
“I don’t know. I’m not his keeper.” He snaps in response, brows lowered.  
“Wooo, defensive much?” Zayn is not having it, it seems.  
Or is just it because Louis snapped at his precious Liam?  
Niall, of course, is oblivious to the chaos, just like always, sipping on the edge of his hot chocolate and talking like his words hold the secret to world peace. “Well, you missed the after party of the century. Justin sure can make a great spread. I fell in love last night. Several times.”  
Me too.  
Louis feels sadness wash over him all of a sudden, cold loneliness washing over his burning irritation and brushing goosebumps up his arms.  
Fuck. Why does he feel like this?  
Niall just wiggles his eyebrows and Louis is suddenly reminded of the task at hand, wit waking him up. “You’re weird. And disturbing. And gross.”  
“At least I’m getting some luvin’.” Niall is teasing him, trying to get him out of his bad mood. It kind of works, despite the cheesiness of the statement. “Sweet, sweet, luvin’, brother."  
Me too, Louis thinks, beneath his amusement.  
He suddenly thinks of Harry, spread out in front of him, the steady, soft curve of his back, and the way his curls trickled down his neck--- and shivers.  
Fuck.  
“I can still taste the sweet sweet taste of her neck.” Niall grins.  
ShutupShutupShutup  
Louis is almost shuddering when Niall batters his eyelashes, reminding Louis oh-so-painfully of when Harry closed his to let out small, laboured whimpers, perfect, long lines fluttering madly against the pale of his skin---  
Fuck!  
What is he doing?  
Louis grabs a napkin and throws it in Niall’s face, no longer able to look at those lashes. Everyone laughs, and Louis, for one, is relieved to feel the attention off his own embarrassment.  
“I bet you can’t even remember her name!” Liam chuckles, as Niall peels the napkin from his face and laughs.  
It’s all I can think about.  
Niall pouts. “Kerry? No! Amy! Or was it Wendy?”  
HarryHarryHarry  
“Who cares? No matter what Rihanna says, you really can’t find love in a hopeless place, Ni.” Louis gets up, suddenly, feeling drained, sad and fucked all at once.  
What a lovely combination.  
“What’s up with him?” Niall asks, once Louis is out of earshot.  
“Beats me.” Zayn says, following Louis with his eyes as he makes it out of the cafe, his humm loud and echoing along the walls--

It’s the way I’m feeling I just can’t deny  
But I’ve gotta let it go

 

**

The average son may respect their step-father, or love them.  
But what Louis held for his step-father, Mark, always felt more than love, or respect. It was, sometimes, in some ways, a reverence-- and after his real father left, it was Mark who had stepped in, picked up the pieces, treated Louis’ mother right, for the first time in a long string of men.  
And for Louis, really, it was Mark who made everything okay again. After what felt like months and months of chaos, months and months of tension and yelling and tears and frustration, Mark really felt like a breath of fresh air, a moment of peace. And from the very second that he had walked in through his front doorway, Louis had always loved him.  
Mark took him in, made him his son. And, sure, yeah, he respected him. In fact, he practically worshipped the guy when he was a kid. Sure, Louis had abandonment issues when he was a kid, but who wouldn’t when abandoned by your father at tender age of one?  
So yes, maybe Mark was the guy that Louis ended up depending all of his influence on. He always called him dad and meant it; albeit always knowing that he had a “genitor” somewhere.  
And-- don’t get him wrong-- Louis loved his mother more than anything else in the world.  
But Mark had always held a special place in his heart.  
Now, Louis is an adult, and,even if it pains him, he can recognise the fact that some of the things Mark sometimes said or thought during his childhood were problematic. It was nothing big, never anything argument-worthy. But it still struck Louis everytime Mark referred to someone as a Sissy or labelled the color pink as too gay for the boys to wear, or simply encouraged Louis to ‘walk straighter’.  
Generally, Louis would brush it all off in his mind, because he truly believed Mark was a kind man.  
He, Louis reasoned, simply just wasn’t educated enough on the subject: and never knew any non-straight people first hand to have had his opinion changed all these years.  
He reminds himself of that now as he walks to the lower floor of his childhood house, having gone home for the break with a lot of things playing on his mind and not a lot of time to deal with it before the tour picked up again. But he missed his family, having been on the road for so long, and had always taken comfort in his family’s presence: the quick, busy, steaming nature of his mother’s cooking, his siblings’ laughter and protests, heard clearly through the walls, and the soft, forgiving feeling he felt whenever he passed the front door.  
So, really, it feels natural to come home, despite the fact that the three main problems rotating around his head at the moment are still throbbing, without solutions...  
Liam and Zayn are a thing, and it potentially could be bad for the band.  
Things are going a little south with El.  
Harry. Nope. No. Let’s not talk about Harry.  
But Louis has always turned to Mark for advice in the past, so he sees no reason why he should stop now. He knows, of course, he should stay away from subjects 1 and 3, but that doesn’t certainly mean he can’t talk to Mark about number 2….right?  
Right?  
“What do you mean, she’s as sexy as a doormat?” Mark scoffs, sitting in the armchair. He was reading the newspaper before Louis came downstairs; and now, is looking at him like he’s from another planet.  
“You know what I mean.” Louis groans. “Plus, I never see her and when I do, things are tense.”  
“Why don’t you end it then?” Mark lifts the newspaper once more. “You’re so young. You really don’t have to be tied down to a girl at your age!”  
Tell that to Simon.  
“Well, what if she’s the one?” Louis now asks, speaking to no one in particular.  
NoNoNoNo.  
“Do you want to work things out?”  
Louis nods vigorously.  
“Well, you’ve got to romance her a bit. Flowers, restaurants, women love that shit!”  
“I heard that!” Jay shouts from the other room.  
Louis huffs.  
“But don’t go soft either. Women love a man’s man, not a twink.”  
“Don’t talk like that.” Louis scowls.  
“What?”  
And Mark, truly, doesn’t seem to understand.  
Jesus fuck.  
“Don’t use terms like that, please.” Louis frowns. “It makes me uncomfortable.”  
“Ahhh, get off your high horse, Boo.” Mark laughs, unbelieving. “It’s just a figure of speech!”  
“I’m serious. You do realise that my best friend is gay, right? And that he’s nothing like what you’re describing?” Louis’ tone is clipped, but other than that, he uses a level voice.  
Despite his feelings, he doesn’t want to argue with Mark.  
“Okay, I’m sorry, I wasn’t talking about Harry.” Mark shakes his head, batting him away. “I didn’t mean to offend.”  
Then why did you say it?  
They drop the subject.

**

Mark may be insensitive sometimes, but he sure can treat Louis’ mother, so he ends up following Mark’s advice. Louis arranges for flowers, a dinner reservation and a nice Hotel room in London for Eleanor.  
He tweets about it too, guilty fingers skirting across keyboard buttons.  
Because if Louis is going to be romantic, the whole world has to see it, apparently.

**

“Wow. Tommo is really trying to convince himself he’s straight today.” Nick says.  
He’s sat across Harry on a table basically stacked to the brim with baguettes, bowls of soup and oddly-placed candles. They’re in the Stars & Forks, an expensive, gold-and-green fondled restaurant located right in the heart of London’s stage scene. Around every corner, a chocolate fountain can be found, and in the air, hangs a superior, overpowering stench of mint.  
It’s driving Harry’s nose crazy.  
But right now, it’s not the smell that’s making him scowl.  
Nick reaches a hand over the table, showing him the tweet Louis sent regarding the “lovely night he spent with El” the day prior.  
What a fucking joke.  
Harry raises an irritated eyebrow. “Himself and the whole world, apparently.”  
He then proceeds to order another bottle, fuming.

 

**

Harry is drunk.  
When Harry is drunk, his fingers scroll over contacts in his phone that have no business to be there anymore. When Harry is drunk, his feet carry him to places he hasn’t been in months. When Harry is drunk, his heart hurts, his chest aches, his mind gets all fuzzy until it all correlates into tears that run down the sides of his face, moistening his lips and creating blinding white noise in his brain. When Harry is drunk, his mouth starts to move, but his ears are filled with static, and his hands shake so violently that he’s sure he’s dying.  
And so, it’s in this state, obviously, that he leaves a voicemail to Louis.  
“You’re such an ass.” He slurs, curled up at the foot of his apartment’s stairs. “You just take n’take n’take. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You just… Urghhh. I’m… Fuck! I hate it when you act like this. You always do this. I can’t… I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to. I thought I could, but…….” A small sob leaves his lips, followed shortly by a hiccup. “I don’t think m’strong enough for the both of us.”  
When morning comes, dragging it’s sorry presence over his head and settling a warm, soft feeling in his stomach, Harry doesn’t remember leaving a message.  
Louis throws his phone against the wall, leaves his mother’s house, and buys a new one without a speaking a single word.

**

They’re at rehearsals after the break, picking up for the British leg of the tour. They’re all excited to be home, varying bundles of happiness and giddiness, and all here, too.  
Well, all here, except for Harry--- who “called in sick”.  
Because you can do that now, apparently.  
Too bad Louis never got the memo.  
He approaches Paul after halftime, all deep frown and short voice. “What do you mean, he’s sick?”  
“I mean, he’s got a fever, and a sore throat, and he’s home sick, Louis.” Paul answers, like Louis is a child.  
“But... Is he coming back for the show?” Liam asks from behind, voice small.  
“The show is in four days, so maybe, but I’m not sure. I saw him this morning, and he was in no shape to walk, let alone sing.” Paul sighs.  
Louis is still frowning.  
This is not good. For a second, he thought Harry was avoiding him. But Paul wouldn’t lie about Harry being sick, would he? Plus Harry would never miss a show on purpose, right?  
Right?  
Louis has to know for sure.

**

“Loooooou? What are you doing here?”  
When Harry opens the door, he’s a mess, his hair sticky with sweat and pasted to his forehead, his skin deathly pale, his lips puffy and his eyes red, glassy, worn, like he’s constantly been rubbing them. He’s dressed in a Space Jam t-shirt many too sizes big, and it hangs off his frame like a scarf on a coat rack, only just sticking to his tummy from the sweat, and making Michael Jordan’s face appear wrinkled, and strangled furiously in a butterfly. Below these are a tiny pair of shorts, blue and striped in design, making his legs appear like barcoded chopsticks, and shaky, bare feet lost in the fluffy doormat.  
Louis doesn’t respond at first, frowning, and placing a gentle hand on Harry’s forehead.  
“No, no, don’t come near me, m’gunna get you sick!” Harry says, alarmed, batting Louis away. His voice is very nasal and his eyes are squished tight.  
“I don’t care.” Louis says, pushing past, and walking straight into Harry’s living room.  
It’s instantly a portrait of chaos; tissues sprawled across every visible surface, empty boxes lying endlessly across the carpet, unworn clothes scattered in infuriating, miserable piles beside the foot of the sofa. The television is on some crappy reality tv channel, and, on top of it, lie many more tissues, scattered like sacrifices above and beyond the light the television is casting onto the carpet.  
The whole thing goes very much against Harry’s usual traditions of tidiness, and it’s this fact that really reiterates to Louis that Harry is, very much, unwell, and it’s also this fact that reminds Louis that Harry, really, shouldn’t be in the right frame of mind to see him after he left that message.  
Yet, he doesn't act different, and Louis certainly isn’t going to be the one to bring it up.  
So there’s that.  
“Come on.” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s arm, trotting over errant tissues and scattered clothes to get to his bedroom. It, very much like the living room, is filled to the brim with absolute crap-- but it doesn’t stop him from wading through and plopping Harry down on the bed.  
He lands with a slight ‘ooof’, impact sending tissues flying, sort of like baby clouds in a hurricane, thrown madly out of orbit. Louis scampers after him, emptying the bed and all of it’s chaos into a nearby waste bin, before putting Harry under the covers, pale and cuddly, immersing him in velvet.  
“Rest a little while I clean up a bit.” He advises, hands patting down the pillows.  
“Bu’ you hate cleaning.” Harry frowns. His nose is scarlet; his cheeks rose.  
“I know. See how lucky you are to have me?”  
Harry tries to laugh. but his head is full of fuzz, and his ears pounding wildly, like two huge drums, on either side of his head. Soon enough, he’s asleep, curls drifting onto the pillows, mouth slightly parted, hands splayed, like they’re controlling the gentle ebb and flow of his chest.  
Louis is soon walking around familiar circles; picking things from the carpet, from the shelves, from the tables, no thoughts in his mind and warmth in his heart. Before long, he even finds himself vacuuming the small space that is, and always has been Harry’s apartment-- and then, scouring the kitchen for something to cook once Harry wakes up.  
It’s at this moment, staring at Harry’s vast collection of herbs and vegetables and spices that Louis has never even heard before in his life--- (like, what the fuck is Cumin? Some kind of sick innuendo?) that Louis is reminded that he can’t cook for shit.  
But it doesn’t stop him from at least whipping up the Soup à la Tommo, one of his mother’s old recipes, from the back of his mind, and he’s just about in the middle of it when he hears coughing and shuffling coming from Harry’s room.  
He walks to the door. Harry is trying to get out of bed, feet scrambling with noodle limbs, hands weakly pawing against the numerous cushions and pillows and blankets stacked down below him, but the fever looks like it’s in full force now, muffling all of his senses, so it’s quite obvious he’s not going to be quite good on his feet.  
Louis rushes to his side, steadying him. He already knows Harry’s had a bad back in the past, and doesn’t really want to aggravate the problem further by letting him fall---  
“What do you need?” He asks, gently lifting him atop the covers. “Just ask, alright?”  
“Cough syrup. Para….Paraceeeetmol.” Harry points at the coffee table, eyelids low.  
“Okay.”  
A little bit later, while doused in duvets and with several portions of Soup à la Tommo in his stomach, Harry asks:-“Why are firetrucks red?”  
Louis is sat in the adjacent armchair, nose deep in a magazine. At Harry’s statement, he lowers the magazine, looks at him, frowns at him, and says:- “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”  
“S'funny. they should have rights, s'all.” Harry blunders, eyelids low.  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Louis stifles a laugh.  
“Don’t laugh.” Harry says, brow lowering. “Firrretruck rights are very important, Lou.”  
“Right.” Louis says, shutting the magazine. “No more cough syrup for you.”  
“Bu’, Looou,” Harry complains, voice thick with cold, “S'not fair. I want firetrucks to be blue.”  
Louis smiles, just like he would to a child, and asks- “Why?”  
“Cos they'd match your eyes.”  
The cheeky bastard. Only Harry Styles would be flirting with a 102 fever.  
Louis can’t contain a laugh at his comment, fingertips creasing at the edges of his magazine, just the same as the fond, soft crinkles on either side of his eyes. “What am I going to do with you, Haz?”  
And at that, Harry just looks up at the ceiling for a while, fumbling with the rings on his fingers.

**

Later on, they're watching a kid's programme (because Harry requested it so). He’s buried beneath avalanche-fulls of covers, eyes barely open, lips parted as he takes in the programme. Louis has his legs crossed at this point, brows up.  
“Cartoons used to be so much better than this.” He scowls, as a fluorescent, ugly pig runs around the screen.  
Harry frowns at that and says -- “Peppa doesn't choose to be that way you know, Loouw.”  
As Harry begins to drift to sleep, Louis turns the TV over to “The Good Wife”. He likes Julianna Margulies. Louis thinks she looked so much better with her unruly curls, though.  
Weird.  
“Lou?”  
So Harry’s still not asleep yet. Figures. Louis is achy from sitting up in the same chair for so long, fingertips rubbing at eyes, bum shifting, so that his back is no longer resting against the spine, a change in compass feet turning him towards Harry.  
“Yeah?” Louis answers, tired voice evident.  
“Can you come lie with me?”  
Louis easily complies, sitting on the bed beside him, all achy and grumpy, blaming his own wretched insufficiencies and Harry’s illness for their lack of space. Nothing else.  
It’s certainly not because he wants to lie beside Harry, or anything.  
Harry shuffles besides him, still under the duvet, and curls up into Louis' side, warm curls pressing up to a cold t-shirt side. Louis puts his arm around him.  
The only light comes from the tv now-- the rest of the room rendered dark by draping, red curtains, and a long set of blinds. On the tv, Julianna is running in heels, late for court with Will.  
“Those shoes are nice.” Harry whispers.  
It’s cold. Louis joins Harry under the cover, legs brushing.  
“Lou?”  
“Mhm?”  
“Would you sing t’me?”  
“Of course not.”  
Harry pouts.  
Louis sighs.  
He supposes he does sing for a living, after all.  
He cuts the tv off, leaving the two of them in complete darkness. The only light is coming from the odd flicker or two of the curtains, casting infrequent shards of moonlight across the room, and the only sound is their breathing in sync, soft and loud, slow and sweet.

Day is done, gone the sun  
From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky  
All is well, safely rest  
God is nigh.

**

Come morning, Harry wakes up with a mouthful of hair, and a very asleep, very quiet Louis curled up on the side of his body, pressed stickily with sweat. Whether Harry’s sweaty because of the fever breaking, or from sleeping with someone pressed against him for the whole night, he’ll never know.  
But Louis is here, really here, sunshine glinting down his face, eyelashes fluttering, chest rising and falling at a slow, even pace, causing the rest of the duvets and covers to ebb and flow up and down like a gentle tide. His face is all Harry sees, breathtaking in the morning’s serenity, oddly calm in a way that spreads a gentle aura all over the sheets and kindles a warm feeling in his stomach.  
And this is new. Louis being here...is new. They never do this anymore-- well, at least, they haven't, not since they became whatever they are right now.  
Before this all happened, before friendship and love got meshed up into one definition, they used to sleep in the same bed without a second thought. Harry feels a twinge of loneliness as he thinks of it now: what used to be, and will probably never be so again.  
But, regardless, he feels much better.  
Louis is a deadweight beside him, barely stirring as Harry clambers out of bed, head still feeling a little fuzzy, smile breaking out at the unusual level of silence. There are very few moments in which Louis is this calm-- and each one, although rare, is just enough to kindle an odd feeling of fondness in Harry’s head.  
He heads to the shower, very much intent on washing the fever away. While the warm water sticks his hair to his face and neck, he watches it drip onto the drain below, clattering as it swirls and gurgles down below the floor.  
Memories rush through his head and he smiles, unable to help himself. Last night was so….perfect. It had bad timing, sure, and for the most part, he was out of it….But it was perfect nonetheless.  
Fuck. He tilts his head up, so that the water splashes and sloshes over his face, waking him up, and casting a warm, happy glow onto his grin.  
Keep your expectations low, Styles.  
After brushing his teeth, he gets out of the shower, a towel low on his hips, a pleasant set of butterflies whirring around his insides. Louis is sat on the bed, trying to pry his eyes open.  
Once he finally manages it, casting the sleep from his eyes like a tired fisherman depositing his hook onto the shore, he seems to notice Harry. He smiles, then, squinting from the brightness.  
“Morning.”  
“You look like shit.” Harry says, standing in the hallway. His nose is still a little blocked, damnit. It makes his voice sound thousands of octaves lower.  
“Well,---” Louis argues, raising his eyebrows-- “Somebody still talks in their sleep. And hogs the covers.”  
Harry giggles at that, not even bothering to deny it.  
But then, he’s quiet, solemn, meaningful, looking at Louis with honest eyes. “I feel almost as good as new, though, so thank you.”  
Louis nods, sheepish. He’s never been one for ladled praise.  
“I’m going to make breakfast. Go take a shower.” Harry advises. He’s rubbing his head now, trying to figure out if his room has always been this bright.  
Or is it just the sun sat on his bed?  
Louis stands, hands ruffling his hair up, sleepy limbs giving way to warm, sunkissed skin, collarbones made golden by the light, part of a chest obscured by the sloppiness of his t-shirt.  
Harry swallows. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look so good.  
“You can help yourself to my clothes, too,” He says, as an afterthought, thinking of Louis in oversized shirts and baggy trousers. “The closet’s always welcome to those in need of it."  
He doesn’t even realize the pun until Louis’ in the shower.

**

They eat in companionable silence.  
Harry hands Louis the sports page, embellished in roaring faces and angry, small men in ties and Louis hands him the art section, embellished, in, well, art.  
Louis, unknowingly playing to Harry’s plan, is wearing a large, draping Rolling Stones t-shirt as he sits beside him. It’s blue, as blue as Louis’ eyes, and the sleeves, only just elbow-length on Harry, rest midway on his forearms. He’s rolled them up, taking it all in his stride, and doing the same with the jeans. One of Harry’s favourite beanies hold back the unruly, unstyled mess resting atop his head, and as Harry looks at him, all immersed in sports articles and outrageous headlines, he can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia.  
Oh, the things that could have been.  
When they arrive together for the second day of rehearsals, no one says a word out of the normal. Surely, they recognise Harry’s clothes on Louis, or the way Harry can’t stop smiling, but again, nobody comments. Zayn merely offers a raised eyebrow in Harry’s direction at the sight.  
During the rehearsals, Harry is still a little wobbly on his feet; illness still not fully gone, nausea sometimes taking a full hold of his chest-- but whenever he finds himself this way, he, more often than not, finds a Louis there, too. He pops up by his side, smiling softly, with an arm, or a hand, right on call to help him.  
And, you know, it’s sweet.  
And the first show in the O2 Arena turns out to be fanfuckingtastic.  
Harry is on fire the moment they pop out on stage, air filled with screams, kindling a strong sense of elation in his head, kicking his illness to a back seat. He’s high on adrenaline, on excitement, on Louis.  
Always Louis.  
Louis who can’t keep his eyes away from him for two seconds, Louis who can’t pass him on stage without touching him, Louis who can’t stop smiling and winking and just--- being.  
Being the brightest thing. Making all of the lights in the audience dim, the fireworks nonexistent, the sky dark. Making his eyes seem so very beautiful, his smile seem so very dreamlike, the way he walks almost idyllic.  
It’s infuriating and jubilant, and it makes both Harry’s chest and heart clichedly flutter, hammering against his ribcage.  
He never wants to kick this high.

**

They plan on going out tonight with the crew, and Harry is ecstatic. All the way there, Louis is at his side, bumping his shoulder to Harry’s, placing his hands in his pockets, slipping into old habits like nothing has ever changed.  
Harry should be sick more often.

**

“Tomorrow you’ll have to just tone it down. You’re not making it easy on me, or anyone, really.”  
It’s later in the night that Harry hears Paul says this-- stooped beside the food bar, arms crossed, firm gaze directed rather sternly at Louis. Harry is on the way to the toilets, only hearing the conversation in passing-- shoulders brushing past shoulders, ears strained over the loud music and the exuberant chatter-- but he knows he hears it.  
And he knows, quite wholeheartedly, that he hears the response just as clearly.  
“You know it’s just fan service, right? I was just turning up the bromance for the home shows.” Louis answers, in a cocky, very much self-satisfied, very much unlouis fashion.  
And it carves Harry’s stomach out right to the very fucking bottom.  
He stops in his tracks, overwhelmed, the fuzziness in his head suddenly becoming a little too much atop the statement-- and he ends up, rather clumsily, knocking over a girl on the way to the bar.  
The tray she was holding goes flying-- drinks scattering to the floor, a loud, boisterous yelp leaving her lips. Harry is only just helping to collect the stuff up, all blundering speech and quick hands, when he notices another set of eyes looking his way, feels their gaze, steady and horrified, boring into the front of his head.  
Louis.  
As Harry glances up, the girl spluttering that she can, really, no, she really, can, look after the rest of the mess -- he meets Louis’ eyes.  
Shit.  
They both know what Louis said seconds before: it’s unspoken, unwritten, like some kind of breath-biting promise. It chills Harry right down to his fucking spine and then, uncharacteristically, causes him to turn and run.  
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know how he’s feeling. He exits the party quickly, all bare arms and fast pace, all wind whipping the sleeves of his t-shirt and causing his hair to whirr. It’s not soon after that he hears footsteps behind him, quick and laboured, and he knows instantly that it’s Louis-- it has to be.  
But he’s not in the mood. He’s really, really not.  
“M’fine.” He calls out, holding his arms across his chest, once he hears the footsteps grow closer. “Fuck’s sake, Louis, leave me alone.”  
“Listen,” Louis tries to keep up, trying not to fight, “Let me just-- I’ll get you a cab, okay? Let me get you a cab.”  
“I don’t need your help.” Harry continues to walk.  
He’s shaking now, the cold air finally taking it’s toll on his bare arms and causing a shiver to rush up his spine. He makes it out of the street the party house is located at, pace quick, but then realizes, almost completely, that he has no idea where he is, or where to go.  
They’d walked in a pack coming here.  
“Harry, for Christ’s sake--” Louis reaches out, grabs his arm. “Come here. Fuck, you’re so cold. You’re gonna get sick again. Here.”  
“I don’t want it,” Harry argues, batting away, as Louis removes his jacket and hands it to him--“No, Lou, it’s too small. I can’t.”  
“Just take it.” Louis bites. He doesn’t want to fight; doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say. There’s so much in his head right now.  
Harry slowly slips it onto his shoulders, trying not to shiver despite the cold. The jacket looks tight, but Louis doesn’t care.  
He doesn’t think he’s seen anyone look so good in his clothes.


	5. 11

Chapter 11

“you're in my veins and I cannot get you out  
you're all I taste at night inside of my mouth  
you run away cause I am not what you found  
you're in my veins and I cannot get you out”

Andrew Belle, In My Veins

April, 2013

 

So Harry and Louis are friends, and strictly friends, at that.  
It’s not like Louis is bitter about it-- no, sir-ee. This is exactly what he wants, thank you very much. His relationship is back on track with his girlfriend, and he misses her. A lot. So this is why he finds himself staring at Harry’s hands tonight. He feels lonely, that’s why.  
Absolutely nothing else.  
It’s movie night, not too long after their “fight” in front of that club. Harry has become slightly distant ever since that night-- avoiding eye contact, inside jokes, smirks, touches, jokes-- anything. He’s not...ignoring Louis, per say. It’s just like he’s cut himself off from Louis, slicing the invisible cord between them and leaving Louis with the other half.  
If Louis knows Harry hates anything, it’s being lied to.  
But, still--he didn’t exactly refuse when Louis asked him and the three others to host a movie night in one of their London Hotel Suites. It was set on the day before their last home show, and he wanted it to be something special.  
“It’s a heatwave Lou, why don’t we go out instead?” Liam had said, both patient and impatient at the same time.  
“But I got us an early copy of Gravity, Li! It won’t be in cinemas for months! Please, please please! Plus, it’s just a movie, and we’ll host a party too!”  
And they all ended up obliging, because Louis’ enthusiasm is always kind of contagious. So they arranged for a big screen, couches, popcorn machines, the whole shabang.  
And now, everything is set. Louis is super excited, giddiness building up layers in his stomach.  
Except that he’s not here. Harry is not here.  
People start to arrive, helping themselves to popcorn and junk food, filling the sparse, clear room with sound, laughter, and warmth. Niall is currently trying to do impress Sabrina from the makeup department by eating more popcorn than Zayn in one minute, and Louis-- well, Louis is just plain worried, his eyes on the door the entire time.  
But soon enough, people get impatient and sit on the chairs, forcing Louis to start the movie. But he’s nervous the whole time the film is rolling, fingers curling with anticipation.  
Before long, all of the lights are out. The only one is the glow coming from the screen, bathing the couches in a bright, blinding white light. And for about fifteen minutes, there’s peace.  
And then, at around sixteen minutes, the back door creaks and opens. It’s him, stepping nervously into the room with a huge, yellow slice of light following his legs in.  
About fucking time.  
Harry sits at the back on an empty couch, careful not to disturb anyone. He looks tired, weary, delicate. He’s wearing a blue shirt several sizes too big for him, and a white vest that makes the pink of his lips appear even brighter. Louis watches as he chews on his bottom lip for a while, looking exceedingly small in the middle of that big, wide couch, and then, unable to take it anymore, gets up to go sit beside him.  
As the sits, the couch makes a in a little “oomph” sound. Harry doesn’t acknowledge him at all, eyes fixed fully on the big screen, green reflecting the dark of the picture. In front of them, Sandra Bullock is floating free. It’s kind of quiet.  
Louis is close, a lot closer than he thought he’d be, and he can smell Harry’s shampoo and body wash from where he’s sitting, fresh and making his outline appear softer. He looks straight out of the wash; skin clear, hair vaguely damp. His hand is resting on the couch, beside Louis’.  
They’re not touching, though, their pinky fingers just centimeters apart, and Louis can’t help but sneak a look. Harry’s hand is huge, Louis thinks. It’s big, it’s long, and it’s warm, from the looks of things-- and Louis can feel the heat radiating through the couch just from where he sits.  
It’s also soft, Louis remembers. Oh, so, so soft.  
Louis’ eyes are on the screen now, taking in the large, impassive sight. Harry’s hand could definitely engulf the moon depicted on the screen right now.  
God. Why is his heart thumping like this?  
Are his cheeks hot? He feels hot all of a sudden.  
Jesus fuck.  
Harry seems oblivious to his sudden embarrassment. In fact, he has yet to acknowledge Louis’ presence at all-- but he doesn’t look mad or preoccupied. He looks peaceful, sleepy, and calm instead.  
Without looking, Louis extends his pinky finger and grazes Harry’s.  
If Harry felt something, it doesn’t show, and he doesn’t move his hand away, either.  
So Louis does it again. He rubs Harry’s pinky ever so lightly with his, feeling the soft, transition of skin.  
And Harry definitely feels it this time. He’s shaking his head ever so slightly, changing the position of his legs, pointing them towards Louis.  
Still not turning to look at him, though.  
Louis feels a jolt of pleasure.  
Soon, Harry is stroking his pinky back, ever so softly. Louis looks at him from the corner of his eye. From the looks of things, Harry looks like he’s fighting a smile.  
Their pinky fingers rest intertwined for a second, on the couch, before Harry takes his hand away, resting it so that they’re no longer touching.  
Louis clears his throat slightly, unable to have a good read on Harry’s face from this angle. And after a minute, Louis stealthily tries to approach his pinky to Harry’s again.  
The slight smile is back on Harry’s face again. The little shake of his head, too. He’s still pretending to watch the movie.  
Louis then puts his whole hand delicately on Harry’s, palm to back, and strokes feather-like touches along it for the rest of the film, all of the time wondering how his hands are simply THAT BIG.  
This continues until the lights turn back on during the credits, and Harry takes his hand back, almost reluctantly. His cheeks are spotted red, and….  
Oh, fuck.  
Is he adjusting himself?  
Is he hard?  
Harry looks at him now, intently, hiding half of his lower face in his hand, like he’s trying to figure something out. Like Louis is the biggest puzzle he’s ever had to solve. Louis squirms a little at the scrutiny and says, rather dumbly (because, of course, he has no filter)---  
“You have big hands.”  
Harry just raises his eyebrows.  
“You know what they say.” Louis continues, albeit sheepishly-- “Big hands, Big… gloves.”  
Harry smiles then, cheeky dimples breaking through his investigative, quiet nature. And Louis is smiling back, and for few, quiet seconds, everything is perfect.  
And then, the perfect moment is broken. Because Liam’s voice cuts through the audience, jolting them apart, echoing across the thin hotel walls-- “Come on everybody, it’s time for the partyyyyy!”

**

Whoever said that alcohol and Karaoke was the way to go for this party was definitely wrong.  
Eleanor and a lot of other friends ended up joining them after the movie, family members also mingling amongst the crowd. It’s this crowd that looks on, half horrified, half enamoured, as the tipsy, staggering forms of Liam and Zayn take centre stage. They’re plugged into the Karaoke machine, singing wildly, and giving each other the most adoring glances.  
And, of course, they’re singing Baby One More Time. Of course.  
Niall is… Niall. Flirting shamelessly with Gemma, who is having none of it, but laughing at all of his attempts none the less. These attempts, while drunken, do stretch over an oddly impressive number as far as Niall’s concerned, and may even prove to be a record amount: Air Guitaring, grabbing her by the neck and pushing loud smooches on her cheek, trying to Rick Roll his way into a kiss, pretending that he’s the Elvis of pick up lines.  
“Why are you resisting me, Gems?” He asks, shimmying closer to her. “Don’t you want a piece of this Irish fresh meat?”  
She simply laughs dismissively, shaking a profusely lilac head. He dedicates “All by Myself” on the Karaoke machine to her, and everybody laughs.  
Harry, as always, is being his charismatic, interested little self, catching up with a throng of people throughout the night, talking about times long past and futures yet to come. Louis, too, is way more than happy to see all of his family and friends. He shows, this, as well-- making them laugh, being loud, and well, just being himself.  
And things are good, you know? Things are good. Harry and Louis are orbiting each other, casting glances from time to time. All winks, coy smiles and grins. Liam and Zayn are dancing on the makeshift dance floor, grinding and giggling, and half of the people on the floor with them are nearly bent double from laughing.  
And Louis can’t help but smile. It’s friends being idiots, you know?  
But he seems to forget who he’s talking to in the process. Mark follows his gaze, brow stooping from happy to concerned, and it irritates Louis, just a little bit.  
“What?” He asks, feeling defensive and attacked all at once.  
“It’s just...a bit… ‘in your face’, don’t you think?” Mark grimaces.  
“I-- I guess…” Louis answers hesitantly.  
It’s a bit in everybody’s faces, frankly. But Louis’ discomfort doesn’t come from the public display of affection. It’s about the fact that Mark didn’t comment on the heavy making out Niall was doing against the wall of the terrace with Cara Delevingne just ten minutes ago. At that, Mark laughed, and said--- “You kids these days”.  
It takes a toll on Louis and it shows. Harry, of course, notices, and is about to approach him when Louis shakes his head.  
Harry is at the bottom of the list of the things he needs right now.

 

**

People are slowly beginning to disperse from the party, starting with family, who all have jobs in far off places and kids to take care of, then friends of friends, then the team and the crew. So by the end of the night, it’s just the boys, and their close friends.  
Zayn and Liam reappear after a ‘mysterious’ disappearance, and then, the five of them sing “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” on the Karaoke stage. And things are fun, okay? They’re wiggling their bums around, having a blast.  
And things couldn’t be better.

**

Soon enough, the Karaoke gets put away, and the music transitions from loud and fast to quiet, and slow. And as every regular party-goer knows:--- it’s time to slow dance.  
Louis instantly gravitates towards El, placing his hands on her hips, letting her tie a lasso of arms and hands around his neck. Harry ends up with Louise, but that’s not the reason he’s feeling down.  
No. The reason he’s feeling down has their arms currently slung around Eleanor Calder.  
Harry watches them as all of the couples do slow, steady movements around the floor. It’s not that he isn’t jealous-- because he is. Seeing them together, in the flesh, has always stirred up weird feelings inside him, and that’s not going to change. It’s just...that he feels guilty. Guilty, and strange. Because he feels like Louis is his. His to dance with, his to kiss, his to love. His to more.  
Which is ridiculous, because Eleanor is Louis’ girlfriend. and Harry...Harry doesn’t know what he is to Louis right now. All that he knows that he loves him. And he misses him. And he wants to touch him.  
So yeah, he might be staring. And Louis might be staring back, through guilty eyelids, right above Eleanor’s shoulder.  
So there’s that.  
Louis excuses himself to the bathroom, looking a little overwhelmed, and Harry follows. Louis is stood in a cubicle, running hands through his hair, and as Harry enters the same one, he locks the door.  
“What are you doing?” Louis asks nervously, as Harry gets closer to him.  
“What does it look like I’m doing?”  
“El is just outside.” Louis warns, attempting to unlock the door.  
They’re really close now, eyelashes fluttering. Harry is looking intently at him, eyes dark. “Tell me you don't want me and I'll go.”  
Louis gasps as Harry puts his hand on his forearm, but doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He’s afraid to even breathe.  
“Tell me why you can’t help touching me.” Harry continues.  
There’s still no movement from Louis, so Harry rocks his hips up, pressing his groin into Louis’ thigh, making it so he’s leaning against the wall of the toilet.  
“Tell me you don’t think about me when you’re. Fucking. Her.”  
Harry then kisses his neck, head dipping down, hands on either side of Louis’ head. Louis leans into the kiss, head tilting back, letting out a little whimper as Harry’s lips graze over his Adam’s Apple. And then, Louis’ hands are on either side of Harry’s face, taking control, and then, they’re kissing.  
Well, it’s more a crash of tongues at this point. Harry is already undoing Louis’ belt, leaning into his kisses, the air hot, and sticky.  
Then Harry can’t help it. He grinds into Louis, head falling onto his shoulder.  
“Wait. Stop.” Louis says, suddenly, panicked.  
Harry falls back, allows Louis to push him away. Louis is a bundle of emotions, almost shaky, as he wipes his mouth, and his hands on his jeans.  
“What do you want from me, Lou?” Harry spits, features hardening.  
This isn’t fair.  
This isn’t fair.  
Louis looks upset then, falling apart at the edges. Without a word, he pushes past Harry, and leaves him alone in the tiny space, toilet door slamming in his wake.

**

During the week break that follows, everybody goes home. Eleanor goes to Doncaster with Louis, and Louis and Harry don’t contact each other, at all. It’s weird. Sure, it’s happened before, but it’s still a long time without talking to him, in Louis’ opinion.  
Or does it just feel that way?  
Louis is a mix of relief and guilt when he leaves the tour, heart hammering, lines blurred. He feels responsible for how they left things, you know? And he knows he’s sending mixed signals to Harry, and rationally, he knows that isn’t fair. But he’s really confused right now. He feels drawn to Harry, that much he knows.  
But he doesn’t want to be.  
And something must really be wrong with him, because for the entire week, he’s grumpy. Unusually grumpy. And Eleanor is so chipper, and happy, and desperate to get Louis out of his bad mood, and it’s annoying.  
So he snaps at her a lot, which, of course, is unfair to her. So he feels guilty all over again.  
But he can’t help it. He really is torn. Because for the first time, he really wonders if things are going to turn out okay between Harry and him. What if they never recover from whatever they were for a brief moment?What if they’re never friends again? What if Harry has had enough of him? For the fiftieth time in minutes, he goes to his phone and stares blankly at Harry’s contact ID.  
Curly.  
Somehow he can never find the strength to push the call button. Because what if Harry thinks everything is fine, and it’s all in his head. What if Harry hates him?  
That night, when he’s making love to Eleanor with his eyes closed, he feels empty. He tries not to think about chocolate curls and dimples, tries to block out the the sounds she makes as background noise. It kind of works. It’s like static now.

**

He hangs out with his old friends, to get a sense of normalcy, to remember a time where everything was simpler. It’s a little soothing, sure, but it doesn’t feel right.  
So he’s fidgety and short with them, he blames it on stress, and he smokes a lot.  
But really, he just can’t think clearly.

**

Harry went home sad and frustrated for the week, so he can only thank God that Gemma is home for the summer. It’s good to be home, and he so often forgets what it’s like to be part of something. Needed.  
The first night is a quiet family dinner, and after it, he feels better already. The bitterness about his situation is gone, but the want, and the love? They never really go away, and he knows this after another sleepless night, sat on the terrace of their home.  
It’s early morning, and the street is quiet. A fleece blanket is draped over his shoulders, because the air is crisp, and cold, and the sun is only just clambering it’s way up corrugated, slushy skies-- casting the clouds pink, and the horizon a faint, bitter yellow. He’s quietly waking up, watching the 5 a.m paper round pedal down the street, watching flocks of birds climb the horizon. In this light, everything seems paler, and sharper, like the world has been shifted, into another filter.  
It’s not long before he hears Gemma creeping through the front door, still in her pyjamas, her arms crossed.  
“Do you think I’ll ever fall out of love?” Harry asks, without proper greeting.  
“Jeez. Asking the hard questions before 8 a.m, are we, Haz? Let me get my coffee first.” Gemma laughs, and then, for a few minutes, she’s gone.  
In the moments of her absence, Harry watches the horizon, and feels his consciousness slip away, for two precious, small moments.  
“Do you think we’re going to be okay?” He says, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder.  
“Of course.” Louis replies. “It’s you and me. Forever.”  
He knows it’s a daydream, but it doesn’t stop the hard burn in his throat, nor the sting in his eyes. He shakes his head out of it when Gemma rejoins him on the terrace, rubbing his fists against his eyes.  
She sighs, deeply, taking a seat beside him. “Harry, I don’t think what you’re doing to yourself is very healthy.”  
Harry ignores her, but it’s not bitter. He’s just lost in thought.  
“Have you ever felt so in love with someone you could get lost in them and never resurface?”  
“I can’t say that I have, no. It still doesn’t sound healthy, Haz.” Gemma states, matter of factly, lips hovering above coffee cup.  
“You don’t understand. Sometimes…sometimes I feel like if I didn’t have him there would be nothing left.”  
“Again, not healthy.”  
“I know.”  
The silence allows him to drift in his thoughts again.  
“Do you miss me as much as I miss you?”  
“You’re all I can think about.” Louis answers, smiling reassuringly.  
Harry shakes himself out of his daydream. “He’s not ready for me, though. He can’t be with me. But somehow, I know that he can’t be without me, either.”  
“I just hope you don’t get destroyed in the process, kiddo.”  
“How much longer, Lou?” Harry begs, once again in the dream.  
“Just-- Wait for me, yeah?” Louis says.  
“Yeah.” Harry nods. “I’ll wait for you.”  
Fuck. Now his sister looks worried.  
“What if it’s worth it in the end?” Harry asks her looking right at her.  
She sighs. “I’m rooting for you two, you know that. Just-- don’t wear your heart on your sleeve all of the fucking time, yeah? Protect it a little, I don’t know.”  
She ruffles his hair, kisses his cheek, and walks inside, leaving him all alone. He nudges his knees closer to his chin, the slight breeze moving his curls past his cheeks.  
How could he wear his heart on his fucking sleeve if his heart is in Doncaster?

 

**

It’s just inescapable at this point, the fact that Louis misses Harry. It’s woven it’s way into his everyday paths of thought and he can’t escape it. So, he goes back to work early.  
He’s in fucking Uruguay. Moping in Bogota could be a great title for a sad movie, he thinks, watching the space Harry would normally occupy upon breakfast. He’s frowning at this point, glaring daggers at the empty seat. The only people here with him are Zayn and Liam, and that’s only because they wanted to have some time to enjoy the city before starting work again, not because they’re here to share Louis’ pain, or anything.  
So there’s that.  
Bloody cute bastards.  
“When is he coming back?” Louis asks, for the fiftieth time.  
“End of the week.” Liam says, munching up a spoon of cereal.  
“Like you were supposed to,” Zayn reminds him.  
Louis feels like he’s having withdrawal symptoms. He just wants what he can’t have, and shouldn’t want, and it’s messing with his head. Plus, seeing Zayn and Liam having it so easy is kind of sickening.  
Kind of maddening.  
Three more days.

**

Harry is dreaming again, eyes fluttered shut.  
Inside his head, Louis is teasing him, a smirk planted widely on his face. He’s on his hands and knees, spreading gentle, soft touches around the line of Harry’s boxers, tempting.  
Forever tempting.  
“I wish you were on my lap right now.” Harry blurts, panting.  
“All you have to do is ask.” Louis smiles, like he’s hiding a secret, and winks, moving closer---  
Harry jolts awake, painfully hard in his boxers, sweat coating his chest and shoulders. His heart is beating like it has nothing to lose.

**

Louis is lying in his hotel bed, ready to go to sleep at night, but failing miserably. Sleep is beyond his clutches, taunting him behind his eyes, making the room too warm and too sticky.  
And he can’t resist it anymore. He has to reach for the phone, has to call Harry.  
And even though it’s late, the phone rings, and then, as it picks up, there’s a deathly beat of silence.  
“Hello?” Louis says.  
There’s no response.  
“Hellooooo?” Louis moves back, looks at the screen.  
Harry picked up. But all Louis can hear is ruffling and then--  
\--A moan.  
Oh god.  
Clearly, Louis wasn’t meant to hear that, and all of a sudden, the truth hits him, cutting through his blushed cheeks and causing a whirr in his stomach. Harry must’ve wanted to ignore the call, but answered, instead. Louis is about to hang up in a hurry, embarrassed, when he hears it.  
The faint whisper, entangled in a pleading gasp, so quiet that it’s barely there.  
But Louis hears it nonetheless.  
“Lou.”  
And in that moment, Louis knows that he won’t be able to hang up. He’s ashamed of it, but he still knows it. The truth rushes into his head and down below like a tidal wave crashing onto the shore.  
Harry is wanking.  
Harry is wanking in his childhood bed, thinking about him.  
Holy fuck.  
It stirs up mixed feeling in Louis. Guilt, wonder, happiness, longing, shame, and desire.  
Want.  
Louis takes himself in his hand then, and as quietly he can manage, he rubs himself to Harry’s sounds, moans, and quiet, pleading nonsense. He bites his tongue as hard as he can manage to muffle the scream he’s about to make upon his release, what feels like a dozen fireworks going off in his head at once.  
After he comes, things are quiet. He sits there, for a while, thinking about what just happened.  
Then, he cleans up, hangs up the phone, and cries himself to sleep while it’s still his hands; cold, deafening glass smeared wet by saltwater.  
Never before has he felt this lonely.

 

**

After what feels like years, Harry joins them in Bogota. He’s all big, organised bags and carefully placed scarves, and from the outside, looks happy as anything.  
But Louis doesn't really know how to act around him. He’s in a bit of a shocked state, really--- like he’s frozen in place, especially since the phone call, like every move he makes is a wrong one.  
It’s so unlike him, too.  
And Harry, beneath his cheery demeanour, doesn't seem much better either, and Louis, who used to read him much better than this, is now completely incapable of figuring out where his head is at. It’s maddening.  
Thus, they quietly ignore each other. But Louis stares, partly because he can’t help it, partly because he can’t keep asking himself where he went wrong.  
Hoping to find the answer on Harry’s face, his dimple, his smile.

**

Where the fuck is it?  
Harry is reluctant to go to Louis’ dressing room, but in all fairness, it could very well be there.  
Fuck.  
He knocks on the door, breath bated, and when Louis opens the door, he’s a bundle of nerves.  
That’s new.  
Louis is dressed down, wearing a beanie and jogging bottoms, and his hair is the messiest thing Harry’s ever seen. Yet, he’s so, so beautiful-- stubble framing his chin and mouth, blue eyes sleepy, yet cold.  
Way too bright for his face.  
“Uhm, have you seen my notebook?” Harry says, putting his arms behind his back, like he’s greeting the queen, or something.  
Fuck.  
“Uhm, I’m not sure.” Louis answers, quietly.  
When did they become this awkward with each other? The tension is killing him.  
“You know, the leather one.” Harry adds, uneasy.  
“Yeah, I know.” Louis blinks, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.  
There’s a moment of silence. Harry is still quiet, thinking of something to say, teeth biting down onto a full, soft-looking bottom lip.  
“I’ll help you look.” Louis adds, and in some ways, he feels like he’s asking for permission for a lot more.  
And so they look. It’s awkward, it’s uneasy, and they spend most of the time avoiding touching each other in the process.  
It’s very frustrating, to say the least.  
“There it is. Thanks.” Harry finally says, unearthing it from beneath a tall stack of newspapers.  
“Wait!” Louis says, suddenly, as Harry turns to walk away.  
And then, he runs up to Harry, and holds him tight. His head is on Harry’s chest, his arms around his waist. And Harry squeezes back, still holding his journal, leather pressed up to Louis’ back. Somehow, it feels like this is their way of conveying how they feel. How they’ve felt since the last time things were okay. And how, they both hope, it’ll never be that way again.  
And it’s relieving, you know? It’s very relieving.  
When they break apart, they’re both awkward, small smiles and casual walks. Going about the rest of the day sure seems easy when it feels like all of the doubts in you have been released, like the deflating of a guilt balloon.  
So maybe, Louis thinks, watching Harry greet the Bogota crowd, things will be okay. Maybe not all hope is gone for them.  
And if one thing is certain, it’s the way that Louis feels:---relieved, exhausted, and happy, all at once.


	6. 13

Chapter 13

 

“Take my hand and we'll make it  
I swear”

Jon Bon Jovi, Livin’ on a prayer

 

August, 2013  
3 months later

The tour ended in South America, and now, they’re back home.  
Well--- kind of.  
They’re all in London, writing and recording their third album, stuck in late meetings and frilly soundchecks. So the five of them see each other quite enough, and, when they’re in the studio together, it’s more than common to find them hanging out-- discussing song lyrics, laughing over Twitter reactions, and sleeping what’s left of their peace away.  
This day has been like all of the others so far-- bridge recordings, followed by undertones, followed by sleepy promo arguments and half-arsed banter. It’s on a day like this that Harry would often find himself by Louis’ side, or, craving Louis’ attention-- and today, as every other, has been no different.  
Fuck that. When are things ever different with Louis?  
Louis is immersed in a phone game during one of their breaks when Harry approaches him, all steepy quiff and sleepy fingertips, hands in pockets and bum landing him quite neatly beside Louis on the armchair’s shoulder.  
Louis looks up, but barely. His game is flashing quite a bit at him, and there’s soft, calm bags drooping under his eyes. Harry watches him play it for a while, the game’s various monotonous colours and sounds making his eyes hurt, but after a bit, he lets out a long sigh, and Louis turns to look at him.  
“Hmm?” He says.  
The look in his eyes is soft, friendly, calm. Harry smiles at him, almost out of habit, and then, shuffles himself closer, so that his leg brushes past Louis’ shoulder. “Time for a piano lesson if you ask me.”  
“Quality time with Styles.” Louis smiles back, glancing to his watch, and then-- “Alright. When have I ever said no to that?”  
Harry is all dimples and stars in his eyes.  
And, like every lesson they’ve ever had since they met, it’s quiet, cozy, and sweet; a montage of soft fingers on keys and thighs pressed together. And even though Louis has had less cause to correct Harry through the years, he still does it. Even when it’s unnecessary, even when Harry gets it right.  
But Harry doesn’t mind.  
He loves it; loves the fact the way Louis’ fingertips gently skirt over his, loves the quiet, hushed nature of Louis’ voice, close and warm, his chin occasionally brushing against Harry’s shoulder. It feels like nothing has changed, sometimes, despite the fact that Harry very much thinks that Louis longs the touch between them too; feels the thunder rumbling in Harry’s palm each time Louis leans over, feels the jitter in his shoulders every time they speak.  
But it’s okay.  
It’s not perfect; but it’s okay.

**  
Today’s song is a slow, peaceful cover of “Counting Stars”, and all of the way through, Louis is quiet and attentive, nodding with each ebb and flow of Harry’s knuckles on the keys, staring at both the piano and the way Harry’s jaw flickers when he’s concentrating.  
“You’re getting good.” Louis says, when he’s finished:-- “Like, really good.”  
Harry blushes at the compliment, itching at the side of his nose with a ringed set of fingers.  
“Thanks.”  
“You know, you could probably afford your own legit piano professor by now. We’re rich, haven’t you heard?” Louis laughs.  
Harry resists a frown.“I like when you teach me things.”  
“Good. I like to teach you things.”  
Soft smiles are shared, but, as always, Louis is quick to detach himself.  
“Come on, one more time. And sing this time.”  
“Alright.” Harry says, before adding:---“Sing it with me.”

Old, but I'm not that old  
Young, but I'm not that bold  
I don't think the world is sold  
I'm just doing what we're told  
I feel something so right  
Doing the wrong thing  
I feel something so wrong  
Doing the right thing  
I could lie, couldn't I, could lie  
Everything that kills me makes me feel alive

The air feels heavy when they finish. Louis feels a little exposed, his heart thumping in his chest, so, in true Louis fashion, he bumps Harry’s shoulder with his own to diffuse the tension. Harry watches him with a smile as Louis laughs, shrugging, before saying--  
“Let’s do something fun and reckless.”  
Harry shoots him a crooked eyebrow. “That sounds dirty.”  
Louis laughs again, gets up, extends his hand and says-- “Come on.”

**

“Nope.” Harry says, deadpan.  
“Ha--”  
“Absolutely not.”  
“Com--”  
“Not in a million years.”  
“Are you scared? Is that it?”  
“No!” Harry retorts. “Well, yes. Aren’t you?”  
“It’ll be less scary if we do it together, I promise.” Louis says, knowing.  
“How do you know? You’ve never tried this before.”  
“I have a feeling, that’s all.”  
“Fuck. Are you asking me to put my life on the line relying on the Tomlintuition?”  
Louis puts his head in his hands. “My god, you’re the worst.”  
“Heyyy!” Harry crosses his arms. “I think I’ve made worse puns!”  
“You have, but that’s not the point. I won’t do it without you.” Louis cocks his head to the side. “Please? Pretty please?”

**

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Harry says, while they’re in the helicopter.  
The sky is everywhere; pinpricks of clouds looming so much closer as the aircraft ascends, each lazy, lumbering whip of the blades above making Harry’s stomach lurch. He feels vaguely sick as he glances out of the window; Louis letting out a cackle, way too excited to be making his first skydiving plunge, way too oblivious to Harry’s distress.  
“Yeah, babe! Wouhouuuu!” Louis looks like a child in a candy store, face pressed to the glass, hands clamped to the window.  
“So.” A voice says from behind them, breaking Harry from his inner pandemonium. “Louis, you’re riding with my colleague, Vincent. And Dimples, you’re with me.”  
Dimples.  
Louis instantly turns around. Standing behind the seats, in a skintight, black rubber suit, is one of the instructors-- in his middle twenties, Louis assumes, with long, golden hair, blue eyes, and a body so muscular that it’s probably fucking bulletproof. He’s looking at Harry with a manicured, perfect smile-- and Harry is smiling back.  
Alrighty then.  
Harry’s instructor-- Emmet--- looks like he very much knows what he’s doing. He gears up Harry rather easily, while Vincent, the lanky, awkward instructor saddled with Louis, looks like he’s struggling with the equipment. It troubles Louis a bit.  
“Is Vincent even fit to fly?” Louis murmurs, once they’re geared up. “He looks like he's about to return to his burrow any moment.”  
Harry snorts, but slaps Louis on the arm regardless. Vincent is over in the corner, the opposite of bothered by Louis’ reluctance, busy picking at his nose while Emmet hauls the helmets over.  
“Ready?” Emmet asks Harry, securing his helmet on, without a glance towards Louis.  
Emmet has a kind of smile that prevents Harry from looking away. It’s a little mesmerizing, if he’s going to be completely honest.  
“Yeah.” Harry answers, dopey smile plastered over his features.  
Emmet is attractive, okay? Sue him.  
“Vincent! I don’t want to die out there, you know!” Louis hawks, from the other side of the helicopter. “Pay attention!”  
“Sorry. Here. You’re good to go.” Vincent sniffs, tightening Louis’ helmet. “Your majesty.”  
They’re paired up for the jump, two by two. Emmet is plastered closely on Harry’s back, easily towering over him, while Vincent is struggling to pin himself to a very reluctant, shifty Louis.  
“Watch it pal, we’re not slow dancing here.”  
“Sir, we have to be attached quite closely. Or else you could, you know, die.” Vincent sniffs, hooking his torso to Louis’ back. “Your friend doesn’t seem to mind.”  
Harry snorts, and Emmet too.  
Well, Well.  
“Would you at least blow your nose, Vince?” Louis says, uncomfortable. “I’m a singer, you know. I can’t afford to be sick.”  
Vincent eventually admits defeat and does what he’s told, which would’ve been a good thing if it weren’t for the fact that they’re literally still stuck together. Which means when Vincent lugs himself towards the corner to reach for a tissue, Louis is dragged along too.  
And when he lets out a big snort into the tissue, Louis feels it like a gust of wind at the back of his neck.  
Harry can’t stop laughing.

**

It’s minutes (and, much to Louis’ chagrin, several tissues) later that they find themselves standing on the edge of the plane platform, centimetres above infinity, footsteps above the clouds. Below, the sky is a mosaic; dark blues and whites and golds splayed across a messy pallet. Pinpricks of cities are marked only just below the clouds, and the sea is endless.  
God.  
Harry’s never felt this small before.  
“Ready?” Harry’s strewn out of his pondering when Louis grabs his hand.  
The touch eases some of his nervousness, fingers winding back around, a small squeeze spreading butterflies right through Harry’s stomach. They smile softly at each other, getting lost in each other for a moment.  
And then, that moment ends.  
“On my count!” Emmet bellows. “Three, two, one, go!”  
And for a second, time is suspended.  
There’s nothing to be heard, nothing to be seen, other than the wind rushing past their ears and their heartbeats ricocheting in their chests. There’s nothing to do but scream; arms dangling and batting helplessly in the air, the tingles rocking in their stomachs restless, excited, and nauseous all at once.  
Holy shit.  
And then, it’s just screams through the intercoms. Harry and Louis are holding tight to each other’s arms, facing each other with their eyes closed. Then, the screaming fades, and giggles take their place when they finally open their eyes.  
“It’s fucking wicked, Haz!” Louis says, watching the world whoosh past, his stomach filled with adrenaline he thought he’d never have.  
“Lou, that’s a cloud! An actual cloud! We are breathing in clouds right now!” Harry beams, all pink lips and bright eyes, happier than Louis has seen him in ages.  
“I think I'm going to be sick.” Louis announces, and Vincent holds him tighter because of it.  
Harry lets out a giggle as Louis elbows Vincent off, clearly not happy with the change in plans.  
“Vince, we’re not at this stage of our relationship yet, back off.”  
Harry looks down once more. “Louuuu, we’re flyiiiiiing!”  
“Holy shit, holy shit!” Louis begins to cackle then, spreading his arms and legs wide.  
“That’s a lighthouse down there!”  
“Woooooooohoooooo!”  
It's so beautiful and weird and lovely and nice. For a moment, they’re children again; having that moment on the swing where you believe you can swing so high that your feet will touch the sky, being little kids, free and innocent and strong and wild.  
Like nothing, not even the gods above, can bring them down.

**

When they’re on the ground, everyone goes to get changed, bubbling from the adrenaline-- giggles and exclamations of pride still being made. As usual, Harry ends up ready before Louis-- taking a seat in the waiting area of the little skydiving lodge, rolling his eyes at the thought that Louis will probably be another ten minutes just to get his fringe right.  
So he sits.  
And he waits.  
And for a few minutes, nothing interesting happens.  
And then, Emmet comes striding in through the door. “Hey. Did you have a good time?”  
He’s all black t-shirt and towel around his neck, name badge hanging rather loosely inbetween his chest muscles. Harry watches it swing from side to side as Emmet comes closer, oddly mesmerized, before checking himself and tugging his gaze back up.  
“You bet, yeah.” Harry laughs, intertwining his fingers in his lap. “I mean, it was absolutely amazing. Thanks for having us. You were great.”  
Emmet nods and looks a little sheepish, scratching his neck and pursing his mouth. “It was my pleasure, really.”  
He takes two steps before the door before halting, changing his mind, and approaching Harry again. “Hey, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries, but would you maybe wanna go out sometime?”  
Harry didn’t see that one coming at all.  
“Ummm...”  
Louis is heading their way, bag slung over his shoulders, hands in his pockets.  
“You know what, let me give you my card. Then you decide if you want to use it or not.” Emmet says, handing him a little white card.

RIDER’S GYM  
LONDON

“You work at a Gym?” Harry states, dumbly, holding the card with a gangy thumb and forefinger.  
“No.” Emmet laughs. “I own a gym. You should check it out sometime. I’d love to give you personal lessons.”  
“Who owns a gym?” Louis asks then joining them.  
“Emmet owns a Gym!” Harry answers, voice a lot higher than usual.  
“Figures.” Louis mumbles then, features a little sour.  
There’s a moment of silence.  
And then, Emmet wipes his hands on his thighs, tucks a long strand of blonde hair behind his ear, and says-- “It’s customary to take a picture after a first jump, guys!”  
Harry has just enough time to get up before Emmet is walking towards them with a polaroid, smile bright, eyes sparkling.  
“Come on, look cute.” Louis says to Harry, grabbing his neck.  
Harry turns around to look at Louis, the intention of saying something witty playing on his mind, and that’s the moment that Emmet chooses to snap the picture.  
Louis lets go of Harry’s neck as Emmet shakes the photo, evidently pleased, and hands it over. As soon as Harry’s fingertips touch the surface, he’s mesmerized.  
Because it’s similar, you know?  
It reminds him of one photo of an old set he has of them together.  
A set they took back in 2010 in a photobooth.  
A set Harry claimed were blurry and never showed Louis.  
A set that is, on more times than not, stashed in his pocket.  
He never showed it to Louis because Harry felt like he was exposed in those photos. Like all his love for Louis was written all over his face. Louis wasn’t ready then.  
He sure isn’t now.  
And somehow, the photo Emmet took seem to capture the same look. The same love. They may have changed a bit, but some things simply don’t. Everywhere he goes, Harry carries the same love for Louis in his pocket, but apparently, also on his fucking face.  
“Thanks man.” Harry says to Emmet, very quiet suddenly. “I’ll see you around.”  
Louis grabs him by the neck, leading him to the car, carefree as ever, but not without shouting over his shoulder--  
“Bye Vince! I’ll cherish our moment until the end of time!”

**

Louis drives Harry home. When they finally reach Harry’s driveway, bathed in soft lights and red, steaming sunset, Louis turns to face him.  
“I had fun. I missed this.”  
Harry smiles.  
God.  
“I miss when everything was simple.”  
Harry’s smile falters a bit as he says this, but Louis looks so content right now that Harry doesn’t find it in him to argue.

**

Emmet’s card is burning a hole in Harry’s pocket and he doesn’t want to use it.  
He desperately wants to want to use it though.  
Why? Emmet is good looking. He’s nice, taller than him, muscular, tanned, humourous. Golden, practically a tank, and with a smile that could power a city.  
So why doesn’t Harry like him back? He doesn’t get it. Is there something so terrible about the idea of Harry actually liking someone else? Is he to be forever bound to someone who doesn’t love him back?  
Fuck.  
Sure, he’s in love. But he’s also lonely and sad all the fucking time. He deserves someone who wants him now.  
Because Louis is nowhere near ready, and, for all Harry knows, might never be.  
I miss when everything was simple.  
Fuck’s sake.  
That means before the sex, before the feelings, before the jealousy and the cheating and the mess.  
Before Harry.  
Louis wants to erase him. Is that it?  
So Harry does what he does when he feels lonely and confused: he goes home. Might as well, because he needs to think about everything.  
He’s feeling a little desperate because he thinks he’ll never be able to move on. But he has to at least try, right?  
Even if he doesn’t want to.

**

 

Home appears so familiar underneath the amethyst purple skies, the last flickers of day sinking down behind the trees, the stars above flickering like pulsing lodestars in the darkness. The pavement leading up to the house he’s spent so many years of his life in is slick wet with recent rain; the grass glistening with tiny pebbles of water and the air warm.  
Well-trodden steps take him through the front door and into the hallway; an instant rush of heat and light hitting him, and then, tight arms wrapping around his shoulders.  
It’s Anne.  
She smells like vanilla soap and peppermint, and from the moment Harry sees her, he’s instantly overcome with emotion. No matter how old he’ll get, he’ll always miss his mum when he’s away from home; and the sight of her, the presence of her, will always kindle a warm feeling in his stomach that he’s never felt with anyone else.  
Well, except from one person.  
“What’s wrong?” Anne says, gripping him tight. “You don’t look alright?”  
I feel like I’m suffocating in the middle of the street  
Hr presses his head onto her shoulder, closing his eyes.  
And nobody can see me dying  
“Nothing. I’m just happy to be home, mum.”  
She doesn’t look like she believes him as she lets go, rather quickly, and pats his cheek. “Alright, let me make some tea. And we’ll talk about this ‘nothing’.”  
Harry simply nods and lets her fuss around him. He’s in a foul mood, sure, but he doesn’t feel like talking about it.  
After a quiet family dinner, he retires to his room, alone, and stares at the photograph for what feels like forever.  
He feels empty.  
No. He feels like he’s he’s mourning.  
And he is.  
He’s mourning something that could have been.  
He’s doesn’t realise that he’s crying until a tear hits the photograph; clashing down with a loud smack. He watches it dilute the paper, blending the colours grey, and then, he feels himself full-on sobbing, his cries muffled by the pillow on his face, his fists clenched tight. He doesn’t want to be heard, he doesn’t want to be touched, and, for a while, he wishes he was nothing at all.  
He cries for a long time, back to the ceiling, the pillow becoming soggy, and wet around his head; a halo puddle of sadness, his face becoming sore, and numb.  
And he doesn’t move. For a while, he doesn’t even dare to make noise; his chest heaving uncontrollably, the tears unstoppable and reckless. He cries until he doesn’t even know what they’re for anymore.  
He only stirs when the bedroom door rushes open, Anne filling the gap, tiptoeing past the bed and trying not to disturb him.  
“Alright baby, I made you a cuppa.”  
Her voice is soft, only overshadowed by the clink of the cup on the bedside table, only broken when Harry mumbles back something incoherent in response. His face is still buried in the pillow.  
“It might be a bit hot still.” She says.  
Harry doesn’t reply, and for a second, Anne thinks he’s not breathing. She steps to the bed, rubbing a quick and concerned hand to the side of his chest, trying to rouse him.  
“Baby?” She calls out, concerned. “You alright?”  
No answer. His chest moves, though, so a wave of relief rushes over her, and she takes a seat next to him on the bed. She runs gentle and frequent touches down the nape of his neck and the small curls there, constant and peaceful, until the knot in Harry’s back unties and he relaxes.  
“Please sit up, honey.” She says. “That can’t be good for you.”  
Harry just murmurs something into the pillow, incoherent, and closes his eyes tighter as Anne continues to calm him.  
“Harry?” She says, hand on his back.“H, please talk to me. You’re scaring me.”  
No answer.  
“Love.” Anne mumbles, and it's then that Harry caves; red lips crumbling into a desperate, silent sob, fingers clutching onto the pillow, tears wrecking his throat and his heart and his chest all at once.  
“Oh, Harry.” She edges closer, scoops him from the pillow and into her arms. “What’s wrong?”  
Harry just keeps shaking his head; face curving further and further into her waist. His hands are clutched onto his hairline and his eyes are closed, each sob that escapes him making his shoulders hunch up and shrink.  
“Harry…” Anne whispers.  
She's met with silence; broken only by the rhythmless, heartbreaking sound of Harry's distress.  
She rocks him for a long time, like mothers so often do to their babies, until he stills and falls into a restless sleep.

**

In the morning, Anne is waiting for him in the kitchen, a little frantic looking, her hands on her hips and her mouth a tight, small line. Harry is all slow movements and puffy eyes as he enters, feet dragging along the floor, melancholy, somber movements leading him to roam through the fridge and cupboards, looking for nothing in particular.  
“Are you ready to talk now?” She blurts, visibly stuck somewhere between livid and incredibly concerned.  
Harry nods, the heels of his hands in his eye sockets.  
“Is it about Louis?” She quips.  
“When is it not?” He laughs, bitter.  
“Fair enough.” Anne agrees easily. “What happened?”  
“Nothing, that’s what. I’m stuck.” Harry says. “Well, he’s stuck. I push and he pulls. I’m doubting everything. One minute I’m sure that it’s just a matter of time, the next I think I’ve deluded myself into thinking that we have an epic love story that just has to be put on the right tracks to bloom.”  
There’s a beat of silence.  
“I just don’t know anymore. And it’s scary.”  
“Awww, baby.”  
“Then there’s this guy I just met, and he likes me, I think...” Harry pinches his brow.  
“But he’s not Louis…” Anne finishes, knowing.  
“Exactly.”  
“Am I supposed to wait for him forever?” Harry asks.  
“Certainly not.”  
‘Wh--?”  
“You can’t be the only one fighting for this relationship, Harry!” Anne tightens her grip on her hips. “Sometimes you have to put yourself first and yes, date other people, to put things into perspective.”  
“I thought you liked Lou...”  
“I love the kid. But he’s not my kid. And I’d be damned if I let my son suffer through heartache and be shoved into a closet if he’s going to be alone in it.”  
“Do you think dating other people will help me fall out of love?”  
“Oh, Harry, I hope dating other people will make you fall in love all over again.”  
Harry smiles then. A genuine smile.  
Then he receives a text.

SURF WEEKEND IN BOURNEMOUTH. BRING ANYONE YOU LIKE, I BOOKED A WHOLE HOTEL. IT’S GOING TO BE LEGENDARY.  
(LEGENDARY. I ABSOLUTELY FUCKING GUARANTEE IT.)

Niall. Of course it’s Niall.  
Harry shows the text to his mother with a crooked smile.  
“Should I invite him? The guy I was telling you about?”  
“Absolutely.” Anne nods. “Do it.”  
He goes to his room, gets the little white card and, with shaky hands, types :-

Hi, it’s Harry Styles.

Then he deletes it. Harry’s never done this before. He’s on such unknown territory that he can’t even stop himself from re-writing the text

Hi, it’s H. What do you say to a weekend of fun, surf and party with a whole bunch of boybanders and their entourage? if you don't want to, it's fine. I mean, you don't have to come. or anything.

Emmet response comes in seconds and consist of a series of emojis:

surf board - thumbs up - sunglasses - dolphin - kiss

Harry chuckles and answers:-

Strong emoji game ;-) sun emoji - party cone emoji - I’ll text you the details. Bring Vincent! nose emoji - kiss emoji

When Harry’s back in the kitchen, eyes on his phone, Anne beams at him, happy to see her son smiling again.  
A+ parenting, she thinks to herself.

**

It’s hot, abnormally hot for the UK-- sweat easily rolling down shirt sleeves and an indescribable humidity hanging in the air. It’s intoxicating-- and the sun is blistering and relentless, causing the air in front of Harry’s car to ripple, and the concrete below his feet scorching hot.  
It’s an hour and a half drive from Bournemouth to London, so he’s almost excruciatingly thankful to be out of the car’s pressed heat and into the open air. At the hotel parking lot, there’s a small breeze, struggling feebly to fight against the hot air pressing down on top of it--- but it’s enough.  
Harry lets out a deep sigh, locks his car, and begins to walk towards the hotel lobby, bag in hand. From here, you can see the beach stretching down below; a huge, limbering golden mass, shimmering with the heat, lazy waves slapping onto the shore and casting the gold brown. There’s already quite a few people there, but Harry always suspected there would be.  
When Niall throws parties, he goes all-out or nothing at all.  
“Curly! Over here!” Louis is the first person he sees upon entering the crowded lobby, filled to the breaking point of friends of the boys, carrying his Louis Vuitton suitcase high and splayed neatly in a bright hawaiian shirt and jeans. “Fuck. Who invited the Dick?”  
Harry chuckles as he follows Louis’ gaze over his shoulder, way back at the entrance, where Nick Grimshaw is leisurely swaggering through the glass doors. He has a bag in either hand, and, much to Louis’ chagrin, looks very ready to make himself at home.  
“Hi, Haz.” He greets, before dismissing Louis without a second glance. “Nice to see you too, Tommo, always so charming.”  
“I’m literally the only one who’ll still pay attention to you, old man. You should be more appreciative.” Louis deadpans, raising his eyebrows, earning himself a chuckle from Oli.  
“Alright, my beloved guests.” Their conversation is cut through by a certain Irishman clambering upon the lobby table, arms held to the ceiling. “The hotel is all ours. No photos or videos allowed, you know the drill.”  
Everyone chuckles at this. Of course.  
“The beach is private too, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” Niall laughs at his own joke, because it’s quite evident that he would do anything, so it’s not much of a guideline.  
“Help yourself to the bar, the drugs, the condoms. I’ll let you all settle. Tonight’s bonfire party is mandatory, so don’t try to sneak out, or else you’ll have to deal with Horan’s fury.”  
A loud thump interrupts them then; sandshoes squeaking on the marble, shut eyes and a loud groan of embarrassment filling in the gaps for the guests who didn’t see the spectacle: Vincent wholeheartedly walking into the hotel lobby door.  
He’s ladled with bags and for some reason, already kitted in his surf gear. His nose is wrinkled up in pain as he reels back, hand over an especially red forehead, and for a second, it looks like he’s going to full-on keel over.  
“Vincent!” Harry shouts. “You okay?”  
He’s just about halfway towards deciding to walk over there when a second figure slides in through the doors, blonde hair tied in a golden, flickering plait, blue eyes shining like the stars above. He is already catching Vincent with one smooth movement, propping him back upright with his hand alone, and suavely walking into the lobby by the time everyone notices, and Harry is speechless.  
Louis certainly shares this trait at the moment, too: a puzzled frown and crossed arms leading his gaze to Harry’s.  
But Harry ignores that. He’s too busy staring, open mouthed, as Emmet wipes a bead of sweat from his chin and winks Harry’s way.  
Fuck.

 

**

They’re on the beach now, sun shining leisurely onto lotioned backs; the sea rolling in and out at a lazy pace. The moment is chilled, carefree, and things are good. For one, Niall and Susan Boyle are catching up. They haven’t seen each other in a while.  
“Suzy, how have you been, my beautiful flower?”  
“Awww, Niall, you’ve always been so good to me, my little pumpkin.” She cocks her head.  
Niall raises his drink. “You’ll always be my first love, Suz, you know that.”  
“Stop it, I’m blushing.” She’s batting her hands at him, flustered.

**

Louis is chilling on the sand, lying on his elbows, sand in his hair and a towel below his chest. Zayn is lumbering next to him, nose deep on his phone despite being literally on the beach, and layers upon layers of sun cream piled upon his back. It looks like he’s wearing a toilet roll, for fuck’s sake.  
But anyway. Louis is lying there, trying to look cool and failing, wishing that sand wasn’t so bloody hot all of the time under his elbows-- because Jesus Christ, his skin is either cooking or peeling off here-- and staring.  
Or more accurately, he’s glaring.  
Yes, he’s glaring at the cocky, immoderately-muscled lumberjack teaching Harry how to stand on a surfboard, all glowing in a black surfsuit, stands of gold hanging from his head like some stupid little haystack collected around his face. He’s not ashamed to admit it.  
And yeah, things are kind of weird here.  
He’s not close enough to hear their conversation, though-- the occasional laughter of girls from across the beach, or drunk guys kicking sandcastles across the horizon, blurring out his line of hearing. It doesn’t mean he’s not going to try, though-- and, in fact, he ends up so bloody concentrated on them that he doesn’t notice Nick the Dick saddling in beside him with a towel, plonking what either looks like a pair of pink sunglasses with bubbles around the rim or a life-size presentation of his balls down on the sand.  
(Louis very much thinks it’s the latter.)  
“Who’s the tool, Lou?” Nick says, sitting down on the towel and applying suncream like they’re the closest friends in the world.  
“Are you jealous that Harry has a new favorite too, Nick?” Zayn chuckles, not once taking his eyes from his phone.  
Louis just glares at him.  
“Is he fucking real? He looks like he comes from a fucking western Tv show.” Nick adds, very much in lieu of addressing Zayn’s completely false observation.  
“He looks like Clint Eastwood and the Barbie had an affair.” Louis scoffs.  
Zayn leaves them then, moderately cackling, wrapping his towel around his shoulders and travelling elsewhere. Toilet roll back and all.  
“Is he made of plastic?” Nick snorts, still referring to Emmet. “I want to shove his ponytail up his arsehole. I bet his cheeks hurt from all the smiling.”  
“Right!?” Louis says then, grateful to find another person thinking the same as him.  
Even if it’s Nick the Dick.  
“God, I hate happy people.” Nick adds, moving back to continue applying sun lotion.  
“I knew I wasn’t crazy!” Louis protests, lifting an elbow off the sand. “Look at him, it’s ridiculous! Is there an actual part of him that isn’t made of fucking muscle?”  
“Someone is a little jealous.” Nick grins. “Haven’t hit the gym recently, Tommo?”  
“What the fuck are you talking about? There’s not one bead of muscle on you! He’s just bloody ridiculous.” Louis mumbles.  
Infuriating, really.  
Definitely a tool.  
“Yeah!” Nick adds, almost reluctantly. “He looks hot, though.”  
Louis snorts.  
“If you’re into the bodybuilding type, sure.”  
“But I thought you were into girls, Lewis?” Nick teases, tilting his head.  
“Fuck you, Dick.” Louis scowls, turning away.  
“I feel sexually confused staring at this douche.” Nick adds, rather happy with his sniding comment.  
If Nick’s happy with anything, it’s getting on other people’s nerves.

**

It’s minutes later that Louis stirs from the comfortable silence that’s fallen between them, sitting up from his towel, squinting at Emmet’s shimmering figure.  
“Who the fuck is this rat drenched in golden paint and what does he want?” He mumbles, more to himself than anyone else.  
Emmet is removing his surfing suit now.  
Louis’ eyes shoot open, and he sits up fully, tugging on Nick’s shirt sleeve and breathing rapidly. “Nick! Nick! Am I having an aneurysm, or is he sporting a tramp stamp?”  
“Ohhoo, I think you’re right for once, Tommo.” Nick squints, beams, delighted at this new knowledge, before turning back to Louis and adding-- “Don’t get used to it.”  
Louis is not paying attention though, too busy squinting at Emmet’s lower back.  
“What is it even? An elephant?”  
Nick squints too.  
“Nooo, it’s a sea turtle. Awwww. He likes sea creatures, Harry’s gunna love him!”  
Louis does not look happy.  
“Look at those pecs.” He adds, almost puzzled.  
“Yeah.” Nick says, noticing the sudden change in tone. “Well, no one is that fit without surgery! He probably painted them on! Or took steroids! Definitely steroids.”  
“He owns a gym…” Louis looks defeated now.  
“Oh, ouch.” Nick grimaces. “Real then, good for Haz, I suppose...”  
Louis stands up, heading closer to the shore, passing Harry and Emmet on the way.  
“I would kill for pecs like these.” Harry is wearing a smile when Louis passes, eyes roaming over Emmet’s stomach, but it soon dies after he looks up and sees the way Louis is glaring at them.  
His expression is almost sour, in fact.  
“Hi Louis!” Emmet smiles at Louis as he passes.  
Louis stops walking. Nick is suddenly beside him, evidently not wanting to miss out on one slice of fun, here to lap it up like a cat in front of a milk bowl.  
“Do you want me to teach you to surf too?” Emmet says, looking from Harry to Louis with an amused grin. “You seemed very interested.”  
Nick laughs.  
“I can surf, thanks.” Louis says tone clipped, eyes narrowed in defiance. “In fact, I surf better than you.”  
“Ohoo, this is going to be good!’ Nick says, rubbing his hands. “My money's on this guy though, no offence, Tommo.”  
So much for hating the guy.  
“Again, fuck you Dick.” Louis blinks, irritated.  
Harry just shakes his head, smiling from either embarrassment or glee; Louis can’t tell. “I’m going to get us some drinks, Emmet.”  
Louis forgets all about his little contest as Harry begins to retreat up the beach, and ends up following him to the bar. It’s a little hut near the promenade; the ceiling draped with purple linen, the front bar engulfed in tens of different shades of blue.  
There’s a huge stereo hanging from the ceiling; and two huge cones, set ablaze, burning from either side of the bar. And as Harry leans up to it, speaking slow orders to the bartender, he looks more beautiful than ever. The flames are making his cheeks soft and his hair whisked with flickering strobes of gold and orange-- and Louis has never seen someone so gorgeous in his entire life.  
But that’s beside the point.  
Louis approaches him. “You and this guy? Are you serious?”  
Harry orders two margaritas, turns around to face Louis and smiles--- “Why?”  
“Because you’ve been all over each other all afternoon, that’s why!”  
Harry laughs. “No. Why do you care?”  
Louis begins to splutter. “I don’t-- I don’t care.”  
It’s then that Harry leans in and brushes his lips against Louis’ ear, sending electricity through Louis’ spine and causing nervousness to wash over his chest like a tidal wave. Louis closes his eyes, holding his breath, expecting something like a kiss.  
“You’re so fucking transparent.” Harry says, voice almost a whisper.  
Louis is left stunned as Harry steps back, taking his drinks, and joining Emmet like nothing happened at all.

 

**

Harry is allowed to have fun. Harry is allowed to flirt. Harry is even allowed to enjoy Emmet’s company without being wary of Louis glaring at him all of the time. Harry is allowed to enjoy the contact of Emmet’s body plastered all over his back when they’re on the surfboard.  
Harry is very much, for fuck’s sake, allowed to be touched and smiled at by someone other than Louis Tomlinson.  
“Oops!” Harry loses his balance on the board slightly, shoulders tipping backwards, arms braced to hit the waves.  
But Emmet is there, almost instantly, attentive and close, taking ahold of Harry’s waist and lifting him back onto the board. “Careful there, sweetcheeks!”  
And Harry loves it.  
It’s nice to be the center of someone’s attention, he’s not gonna lie.  
(And no, Louis glaring doesn’t count.)  
When they’re back on the shore, all sun kissed, wet and sandy, excitement in their stomachs and joy in their heads, they decide get rid of their tight surf suit and enjoy the beach.  
Which, of course, turns the afternoon into a beach ball tournament.  
“Sorry Emmet!” Louis looks anything but apologetic after he hits him with the ball for the fifth time, hands raised in apology, eyebrows high.  
“You know, I can teach you volley ball too, Louis!” Emmet retrieves the ball from the sand with an eerie level of grace and winks at him.  
Louis smiles irritatedly. “Thanks mate, I’m gonna keep that in mind.”  
He doesn’t look at Harry as he throws the ball again. In fact, he looks like he’s trying very hard to keep his eyes anywhere else.  
Zayn sends Louis an expectant look.  
“What?” Louis scowls, chucking the ball his way.  
“Nothing.” Zayn pats the ball with a sandy palm before turning away. “Absolutely nothing.”

 

**

Harry and Emmet are stood a little way from the ice cream van, the sun a lot lower in the sky, the pleasant silence between them filled with quiet eating and constant glances to the ocean. It’s sparkling in the afternoon heat; glints of blinking sunlight reflecting from it’s every camber and making it appear golden. Emmet is almost elbow-to-elbow with him, positively beaming under the fresh light, looking straight cut out of a Disney film and way too good to exist.  
But Harry likes this. He likes this peace.  
“You have nice abs.” He says, after a while, once his ice cream is nearly finished and he feels like he should fill the silence with something.  
Emmet shaves his torso and right now, it looks extraordinarily smooth. Harry seriously contemplates doing a raspberry between his pecs after he’s finished his ice cream.  
“Thanks.” Emmet nods, smiling “You can have abs like that, you know. It just takes discipline and a little technique is all. I won’t lie, I’m very proud of my body.”  
“I bet.” Harry says, and then realizes he’s staring, bordering on drooling, and quickly takes his gaze up.  
(Man. He really wants that raspberry.)  
Emmet turns his head to the side. “I’m not saying this to be cocky. It’s just-- It’s my job, you know? I kind of have to be in shape, if you know what I mean? It’s like my card.”  
“You’re the face of your brand.” Harry reasons.  
“Yes! Just like you.”  
And they laugh at that.  
Emmet smiles at him. “Although, all you have to do is flash those dimples, while I have to work hard at it. It’s not fair, really.”  
Harry smiles sheepishly, and then, takes what he very much suspects to be his last lick of ice cream. Emmet watches this movement with curious eyes, and then, lets out a laugh.  
Harry frowns.  
Emmet simply points to Harry’s nose and cheek. “You’ve got a little bit there.”  
“Oh.” Harry says, laughs, and then rushes his hands to wipe it off--  
\--but Emmet is already there, a warm thumb and fingertip flecking on Harry’s skin, colliding with his.  
“I got it.” Emmet says, easily, smiling so warmly that Harry can’t resist moving his hands away and let him thumb the chocolate from his face.  
God. His hand is so soft.  
“Tell me, how did you end up in England?” Harry says, once Emmet is done, feeling twinges of embarrassment clamber up the butterflies in his stomach.  
“Hm.” Emmet says, looking at Harry’s clean cheek like it’s a work of art. “I was born and raised in LA. I travelled a lot through the years. And I just fell in love with London. Worked in the place I own now. When the previous owner wanted to sell I saw an opportunity and I took it. It still allows me to travel and work as a skydiving instructor for the rich and famous-” --he winks then--- “--Which is my passion. So it’s all good.”  
“It’s nice that you’re living your dream.” Harry reasons, glad the attention is off his chocolate cheek.  
“Well not all my dreams have come true.” Emmet sighs. “Yet. I still have to climb the Kilimanjaro and take down Sea World, but I’m only 25 so there’s time.”  
“Shut up!” Harry half laughs, half beams. “I want to take down Sea World!”  
Emmet smiles at him then, a promise of a wink curving onto his features, his expression bordering on teasing.  
“Not if I take them down first.”

**

It’s a little chilly for a bonfire, but it’s nice, and the guests don’t seem to mind the temperature.  
(Drinking all day with do that to you, Louis supposes.)  
But what Louis doesn’t anticipate amongst the throng of drunken celebrities dancing their lives away courtesy of “DJ Niall” (bulllshit), is the fact that, right in the centre, Liam is positively grinding all he has against a girl’s arse.  
Literally.  
When Louis says all he has, Louis means all he has.  
What’s up with that?  
“Hey, Z! Come here a sec.” Louis slurs, because, yes, he’s tipsy, bordering on drunk, and has no filter or boundaries at this time of night. Everything suddenly becomes okay to say.  
“Yes?” Zayn adopts his most patient stance and turns to face him.  
“Aren’t you and Li a thing?”  
“Mmmh?”  
“You. Liam. Fucking everywhere.” Louis splays his arms out, as if to make it out like they’ve even been to the cosmos and back in their lovemaking.  
“Your point being?”  
He grabs Zayn by the shoulders and turn him to face the debauchery that is Liam and that girl.  
“This.” Louis points directly at them, because he’s a douche now, apparently--- “Doesn’t it bother you?”  
“Believe or not, Louis, but Liam and I are very much on the same page. Because, you know, we talk about things.” Then Zayn mumbles, realizing who he’s talking to. “Fuck. Of course you don’t know.”  
Zayn continues regardless. “Since you’re very curious about our relationship --although you’d never talk about yours-- I’ll tell you. Liam and I, we fuck, we have fun. No strings attached. They’re no feelings, no judgment, no jealousy. He likes to fuck girls occasionally. So do I. In fact, I’m here with a girl, in case you didn’t notice.”  
Louis looks very puzzled.  
“Of course you didn’t notice.”  
Louis just looks at him dumbly, trying for the life of him to connect the dots.  
Zayn laughs. “Lou, I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand. It’s just not in your DNA, mate.”  
Louis is just in awe right now. His friends, who he’s supposed to know better than anyone else?  
They’re suddenly full of surprises. Who would have known Zayn and Liam were bisexual?  
And they seem so casual about it, so comfortable in their own skin.  
It baffles him, if he’s going to be honest.  
Zayn leaves Louis with a pat on his back and a look plastered on his face that screams pity. It’s just as well, really, because Louis’ attention is stolen quite drastically by the appearance of someone entering the throng around the bonfire.  
Harry.  
He’s in a sheer black shirt, his tattoos clearly on display, shimmering back and forth with each movement the fabric makes in front of it. He looks almost ethereal in the light; gold and orange and daffodil splaying across his chest and jaw like misdirected fireworks, lighting him up beside the sunset, making Louis’ heart pound and his mouth dry.  
But there’s something wrong. Ah yes. There it is. The douchebag attached to his hip.  
Louis sombers instantly.  
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Now they’re dancing.  
Louis needs another beer, maybe even an entire keg, but he goes to Niall instead. Demanding that he kills the music.  
“What are you on about, Lou?” Niall asks, deflated, removing his headset.  
(Wannabe.)  
“We’re a fucking band, Ni! I demand that we bring the guitars and sing songs by the bonfire!”  
“Alright! I’m game if you are!” Niall says easily.  
Niall. What a good lad.  
If only the other sixty percent of this band were this quick to accommodate his needs, Louis’ life would be so perfect.  
“Vince! Go fetch the guitars, man!” He calls down the beach, and Vincent almost falls over backwards in shock, cola falling down the front of his top.“Good lad, Good lad.”  
“It’s One Direction unplugged time!” Niall announces.  
But Harry, who stopped dancing with Emmet when the music was abruptly killed, is simply scrowling at Louis, grabbing Emmet’s hand and walking away.  
“We lost our front man! You’re no fun, Styles!”  
They sit and sing and laugh. If they sang “Five hundred miles” and it was catastrophic, no one has to know.  
People join in occasionally, and, soon enough, as the sun sinks below choppy waves, the beach clears out a bit. Some people are talking, chatting aimlessly atop the cool sand, others (namely, Niall and Susan) disappearing behind bushes for suspicious amounts of time. Vincent is talking to himself on the shore, obviously high, and Liam and Zayn are laughing at him.  
There’s been no signs of Harry and Mr Muscle still, but Louis tries not to think about that.  
Instead, he strums on his guitar for a while, thoughts foggy with alcohol, Nick, of all people, sat beside him, high as a kite.  
“Tommoooooo, I’ve been thinking a lot lately.” He slurs.  
“Don’t.” Louis says, not taking his eyes from his guitar strings. “You’ll hurt your head.”  
Nick looks completely shocked and aghast at this, nearly falling backwards on the sand.  
“Nonsense. I’m capable of being deep, you know.”  
“I highly doubt that.” Louis blinks. “But okay, I’ll humour you.”  
“Life is short, Louis. Just like you.”  
“That is deep, thank you.” Louis reckons. “I may now enjoy life at its fullest.”  
“You’re impossible. Here I am trying to be spread my wisdom upon the youth and you mock me.”  
“See, you only think that way cause you’re so much closer to your grave than me, Nick.”  
“Awww, you called me by my name!” Nick fawns, putting his head on Louis’ shoulder. “You never do that!”  
“Of course that’s what you choose to focus on, Dick.” Louis laughs, and for once, it’s genuine.  
They sit in companionable silence for a while, Nick staring at the fire, Louis continuing to strum random things. Apparently, Louis has been strumming a specific melody for quite some time because Nicks starts to slur/sing--

Gosh it disturbs me to see you, Gaston  
Looking so down in the dumps  
Ev'ry guy here'd love to do you, Gaston  
Even when taking your humps  
There's no man in town as admired as you  
You're ev'ryone's favorite twat  
Ev'ryone's awed and inspired by you  
And it's not very hard to see whyyyyyyyyyyy

Louis bats his eyelashes then but takes over then, clearly inspired--

Nooooo one surfs like Gaston  
No one swims like Gaston  
No one shaves their torso like a prick like Gaston  
For there’s no tramp stamp-ee as manlyyyy  
He is roughly the size of a cliiiiiifff  
He looks like Ken and Barbie had a kiiiiid

Nick looks he’s about to pee his pants with laughter. Louis is quite proud at his “on the spot” song writing and barks a laugh too.  
“That’s some good shit r--”  
He cuts himself off because when he turns over to Nick, from over his shoulder, his eyes land on an angry Harry.  
He just got back from his little walk with Emmet, but he already has clenched fists and a tight jaw.  
Oops. Not good.  
Harry grabs Emmet’s hand and leaves again.  
The sight of their hands intertwined makes Louis sick.  
“Jeez. some people have zero sense of humour.” He spits, rather bitchily, watching their figures retreat into the dark.

**

They walk on the beach for a while, Harry half fuming and worrying in silence, struck with confusion and so many and little things to say.  
Because of course Louis would pull these stupid, childish tricks when Harry’s with someone else.  
Of fucking course.  
“Please don’t take it personally.” Harry says, after a while. He’s a knot of nerves.  
“I don’t.” Emmet answers easily, hands in his pockets.  
“Louis. He’s-- well... “ Harry struggles to explain himself. “It’s good that you don’t take it personally.”  
Emmet smiles. “Hey, I, really, really don’t. Don’t sweat it. Believe it or not, it’s not the first time someone compared me to a Disney character. Don’t let it ruin our date.”  
“Date?”  
“Yes. I mean, if you want it to be.”  
Harry smiles big; Louis instantly forgotten.  
“Come on.”  
Harry removes his shoes and gestures to Emmet to do the same. Then, he puts his feet in the sea, up to his ankles, so that his skin becomes a wobbling blur and their feet are meshed with sand and the soft pebbles below. It’s cold, but nice. Emmet is quick to do the same, their elbows touching as they watch the moon take flight above the clouds above, casting a bright white runway on the wobbling waves.  
The view is breathtaking.  
“C’est superbe.” Emmet says, quietly glancing at Harry’s profile.  
Harry turns then, beaming. “Tu parles français!”  
Emmet laughs. “Toi aussi!”  
“I learned a bit in school.” Harry says, sheepishly.  
Emmet bumps his thigh with his own. “I hear that French is the key to a man’s heart, you know.”  
Harry laughs, but it’s broken off as a freezing cold gust of wind flaps at his bare ankles. He shudders.  
“Are you cold?” Emmet hands him the sweater he was wearing around his waist. “Here.”  
It smells like salt and wind and manly cologne. It’s too big for Harry.  
Louis would swim in this sweater.  
Harry shakes himself from drifting into thinking about Louis, despite how lovely it might feel.  
Because no. Louis is being a twat right now. He doesn’t deserve to be in Harry’s thoughts, much less in his clothes.  
“Thanks.”  
Emmet put his hands in his pockets.  
“Let’s go back.”

**

Shortly after Harry leaves with Emmet, Louis goes back to his empty hotel room with a bottle of Gin, very intent on getting much drunker than he already is and pass out.  
But after an hour of tossing and turning in bed, the insides of his eyes swirling like crazy he gives up on sleep, and goes for a smoke on the terrace.  
He wasn’t moping, thinking that Emmet is tall enough to cuddle Harry properly. No.  
No, he was not imagining Emmet’s giant hands on Harry’s delicate body. Not at all.  
He wasn’t thinking about Emmet taking care of Harry, lifting him up against a wall and feeling the thumps through the hotel walls. No sir, you’re lying.  
He was most certainly not imagining Harry's whimpers and moans, fucked by a giant Oaf, towering over him and casting shadows onto Harry’s waist and arse in the moonlight.  
Louis calls Harry then. It goes straight to voicemail.  
He doesn’t leave a message.

**

The next morning, Louis wakes up with a notepad square on his face, saliva meshing it with his cheek. The paper is lined, and there’s nothing on it but a quote that Louis doesn’t remember writing.

I’m intoxicated with the fear of losing you

Louis scrunches the paper up and throws it away.

**

So, apparently, Emmet is a bit of a daredevil.  
This comes as no news to Louis, especially as it comes directly from Vincent, the right-hand man himself, and it shouldn’t really matter.  
But it does.  
Because Emmet is on a jetski right now, with Harry. Apparently trying to impress him, somewhat, by doing every dangerous fucking thing he can think of on a jetski, gliding above the waves like some glorified fucking sea soldier, hair flapping in the wind like he’s literally about to start sporting a ‘Miss America’ banner any second.  
Arsehole.  
Louis doesn’t understand the impressed “waws” and “woohoos” he’s hearing from around him right now, especially as the majority of these people know Harry better than anything.  
It’s not as if Harry isn’t clumsy enough already.  
It’s not like something bad could happen any minute.  
The sight of them bobbing up and down on those waves leaves an uneasy feeling in Louis’ gut, like he should be out there too, strapping Harry to every solid surface and making sure he’s okay. But Harry, as fucking always this weekend, is oblivious to his distress- having, quite frankly, what looks like the time of his life with GI Joe.  
So Louis heads to the bar, intent on having some fun at least. This weekend is a disaster fun wise. He even kinda bonded with Nick the Dick and that’s saying something.  
“Whhhhooooaaaa!”  
What now?  
Louis turns his head. Are they really going to jump off that rock? That doesn’t seem to be the idea of the century in Louis’ opinion, but nobody asked him, so….  
He turns to get his drink, but in the moment he hears the crowd quieten, and the beach become almost silent aside from the rev of Emmet’s stupid fucking jetski-- he freezes.  
Call it instinct.  
Call it dread.  
Call it sixth sense, but as soon as Emmet and Harry take the jump, Louis leaves his untouched drink and runs to the shore with his thumping heart as the only sound in his ears.  
Where is he? Why isn’t he coming up?  
“I don’t see Harry.” Someone says, as he pushes through the crowd.  
OhGodOhGodOhGod.  
There’s not even any signs of the fucking jetski.  
“Where did they go?” Someone else says, shielding their eyes with their hands, but Louis isn’t listening anymore.  
Every part of his head is running in a circle of: panic panic panic panic panic panic-- and soon before he can even think about what he’s doing, he’s in the water, heart feeling like it’s about to ricochet right out of his fucking chest, head swimming with static.  
A blond head bobs up on the horizon, just left of the rock they jetskied off, but Louis doesn’t care that much about that. He’s swimming past the rock, trying to think straight, trying to breathe, trying not to scream---  
Emmet says something, but it’s muffled by the waves, chopping on either side of Louis’ ears, and then, almost as if by magic, Harry appears on the horizon.  
His hair is slick and stuck to his face, shrouding it from view, and he’s breathing and everything, but something is off.  
Louis can just feel it.  
Emmet crowds Harry instantly, putting steady arms around his neck, trying to support and keep him above the waves. Louis feels a thick sense of dread settle in his stomach; making his insides cold, and his chest numb.  
Oh God.  
“He’s alright.” Emmet says to Louis.  
But Harry looks extremely pale, cold water making him look worse, eyes drawn shut in either pain or illness. Louis swims closer, suddenly very attentive, as a small ring of blood begins to reach the surface; red staining the dark blue waves brown and causing Emmet’s swimsuit to darken.  
Louis doesn’t spare Emmet a single glance.  
“Where does it hurt?” He says, swimming closer, placing a hand on Harry’s cheek, and then, his neck.  
“My leg.” Harry pants.  
His eyes are barely open, his lips trembling.  
“Alright, Emmet, you swim faster than me, go and call an ambulance.”  
“Okay.” Emmet is quick to obey, arms cutting through the waves almost at a superhuman rate.  
But Louis doesn’t look at him. He’s swimming closer to Harry, concentratedly taking the pressure off him, allowing him to wrap his arm around Louis’ neck and slowly beginning to ease him to shore.  
“Everything is going to be okay, love.” Louis says. “Lean on me, alright, that’s it, yeah, alright.”  
“It hurts, Lou.” Harry says, clearly in pain, face drawn and lips jagged.  
“I know. Try not to move your leg too much. Let me pull you to shore.”  
When they arrive, a huge crowd of people are surrounding the shore, holding out unhelpful hands and gossiping madly.  
“Alright, give him some room to breathe, folks.” Emmet says, cutting through the crowd, a phone in his hand, and the people instantly part.  
He puts his hand on Louis’ shoulder as Louis lifts Harry onto the sand. There’s a big tear in Harry’s lower leg, and blood everywhere.  
Louis is livid after seeing it.  
Emmet tightens his grip on Louis’ shoulder. “Help is on it’s way. I need to assess the damage, Louis.”  
Louis doesn’t move. It’s not like he’s ignoring Emmet, it’s just that he can’t take his eyes off Harry right now and everything else is like static to his ears.  
“Louis, move please.” Emmet says, very handedly.  
Louis looks up to Emmet reluctantly. There’s an air of anger in his eyes.  
“Are you first aid trained, Louis? Because I am.” Emmet adds, losing his patience.  
Louis moves then, and he has to hand it to Emmet that he looks like he knows what he’s doing.  
“Alright, Vincent, get me some clean water, and some towels, now.” Emmet says, knelt down beside Harry.  
He mumbles soothings things into Harry’s ear, and Harry nods. More wincing.  
Soon the paramedics take over, a mess of red and blue skirting across the sand, and Harry is taken into an ambulance with Emmet, a flash of brown hair on a stretcher the last Louis sees of him.  
Louis grabs the paramedic’s arm before he leaves, face strewn with panic, worry bouncing around in his stomach.  
“Where are you taking him?”  
“RBC Hospital.”  
Louis doesn’t have to be told twice. He hops in his car in nothing but a soaked bathing suit and flip flops and goes.

**

“He’s going to be alright.” Emmet says, upon Louis’ arrival in front of Harry’s bed in the Emergency Room.  
Relief washes over Louis instantly.  
“What did the doctor say?” Louis asks Harry.  
But again, Emmet is the one to answer, a huge hand clamped on Harry’s shoulder. “Um, it’s a flesh wound, mostly. The bleeding has stopped. He’s going to need stitches, obviously.”  
Harry looks better, but still pale. His hair is matted.  
“Scars are sexy, so it’s perfect, really.” Louis says.  
Harry smiles at that, eyelashes fluttering. But the humour is short lived, because just as Louis is about to ask something else, the doctor comes in.  
“Alright Harry, I’m Doctor Avery, I’ll be doing your sutures.” The doctor begins setting up his instruments and supplies, freezing only when he notices that there’s, quite literally, two people crowded around Harry’s bed. “Okay Harry, only one person can stay with you. Hospital policy, sorry. Who’s it gonna be?”  
Emmet casts a very defiant look Louis’ way, eyebrows raising above a perfectly golden fringe.  
“Umm, I was going to update the others anyway.” Louis says quietly, looking at his feet and retreating towards the door.  
He doesn’t see Harry’s disappointed look.  
In the hallway, Louis calls Niall and put him in charge of updating their friends. After ten minutes of waiting, he feels a little foolish all of a sudden. Clearly, he’s third wheeling here. Clearly, he is not needed here. Even if Emmet is a obviously a self loving twat, he can take care of Harry, better than Louis ever could.  
The realisation leaves a sour taste in Louis’ mouth.  
Louis leaves without a second glance towards the door.

**

When Harry is discharged, what feels like hours later, there’s chocolates in his lap and Louis on his mind. As Emmet wheels him out, he watches the carpet whizz by under his feet, sees the empty waiting room awaiting him, and asks--  
“Where’s Lou?”  
“Don’t worry about him. Concentrate on getting better, yeah?” --is Emmet’s only response.

**

When Harry gets back to collect his things at the hotel, he’s on crutches, which wouldn’t be a problem if people weren’t so damn close-- surrounding him from the moment he hobbles in the front door, suffocating him at every step, shooting questions and touches his way. It makes finding the elevator hard, and taking it even harder-- the huge throng of people broken only by Emmet’s booming presence.  
Harry is grateful for the silence in his room when he gets there-- Emmet quiet as he picks up Harry’s things, Harry trying not to concentrate on the ebbing pain in his leg. He feels like he should be glad that things turned out okay, considering how much shock he was in at the hospital-- but instead, there’s a gaping hole in the bottom of his stomach.  
All he can focus on is the fact that Louis isn’t here with him.  
Emmet drives him home. The journey is quiet, Harry drifting in and out of sleep, watching purple clouds sink below dark skylines and rooftops. They part amicably on his doorstep, the driveway washed yellow from the streetlights, the last dregs of light lazily dragging themselves below the horizon.  
“Call me, yeah?” Emmet asks.  
His voice is soft, and his lips are even softer when they press a chaste kiss against Harry’s cheek.  
“Sure.” Harry says.  
His stomach is a watercolour painting right now; and somehow, he feels like everybody else’s are acrylic.  
He watches Emmet drive away before stepping inside. Emmet had already helped lug his bags in previously, so the door is already open-- but he still finds himself dawdling in the doorway upon entering, for there’s something hidden, quite obviously, behind one of the potted plants outside.  
How strange.  
He stoops down and retrieves it before walking inside. A flick of a light switch in the hallway reveals it to be a small, plain white box-- battered a little at the edges, the insides wrapped up in blue tissue paper. As he curiously picks at it, a frown crumpling on his face, he notices a familiar glint of silver perk from inside-- and then, a tiny, ripped piece of paper, with a quote scribbled on it.

I'm flying without wings  
And that's the joy you bring

The silver is a paper plane necklace, small and dainty, and the paper is crumpled and lined.  
But still, Harry can’t fight the feeling of emotion that rushes over him once he reads the words written there; and then, feels the grooves of the silver against the pad of his thumb.  
Because it’s Louis’ handwriting. The box is from Louis.  
When Harry is back to recording a few days later, Louis has a paperplane tattooed on his arm. Harry doesn’t comment, but he’s wearing the necklace.


	7. 15

Chapter 15

 

“Because being with you makes perfect sense”  
\- Tim McGraw, My Best friend

 

flashback : from september to end of december 2013

They’re back in London, swamped between recording, promoting and holding bated breath about This Is Us. It’s a huge relief that they finished filming before Harry had his accident, as he very much doubts him limping across the screen on crutches would prove for very rewarding screentime.  
But things are okay now, as far as he’s concerned. He can walk better now, even though his leg gets a little sore at times, and things with Louis are okay.  
Or, at least, he thinks they are.  
He’s been very quiet around Harry lately, surprisingly attentive, never letting him stand on his feet for too long, bringing him tea at regular intervals, always glancing his way. Harry very much wonders if Louis’ new surge of support has come following an absence of Emmet since the accident.  
But it’s not as if Harry is avoiding Emmet or anything, as they’re constantly keeping in touch between recording sessions and interviews. It’s just the fact that they’re both super busy that’s keeping them apart. Emmet’s in the process of opening a second gym soon, and voyaging in Tanzania as of now, so there’s that.  
And right now, Harry’s in one of the press rooms, warming up for what he suspects is going to be another gruelling day of recording. Hooks, high notes and harmonies capaciously fill the room for minutes on end, or, at least, until Niall gets hungry. He leaves the room in a tumbled hurry, not even waiting to shut the door behind him, and is quickly followed between Zayn and Liam, who very discreetly and hurriedly excuse themselves.  
It’s quite obvious, in Louis’ opinion, that they’re just going to fuck somewhere.  
But he keeps his mouth shut, because he’s bored, and Louis would much rather find something interesting to do than gossip about Zayn and Liam all day. Anyway, the only people left in the room are him and Harry, and Louis has long established that Harry is one of the worst people to gossip with…  
Hmm. Speaking of Harry.  
He’s sat on a sofa opposite Louis right now, knees tucked under his chin. He’s on his phone, completely immersed, and he’s wearing a grey jumper that’s way too big for him. His short curls are flickering and cambering from the brim of his Snapback, and the sleeves of his jumper are tugged over the pale, soft nature of his knuckles, shielding them from the slight cold.  
Louis watches him a few minutes, insanely bored. He guesses he’s waiting for Harry to do something vaguely exciting or awe-inspiring, so that Louis will be rescued from the consuming level of boredom taking a grasp of his brain, but all Harry seems to be doing right now is smiling at his phone screen and typing.  
So, obviously, Louis throws a paper ball his way.  
Harry looks up and smiles bigger, sending Louis a questioning look.  
“Curlyyyyy.” Louis whines.  
“What?”  
“I need attention.”  
“You always need attention.”  
“Watcha doing?” Louis tilts his nose up, trying to see.  
Harry tilts his phone away from him. “Nothing that’s going to make you happy, for sure.”  
“What? What is it? Show me, I wanna see, now!” Louis instantly gets up, curiosity perked, and quickly begins a wrestling tug-of-war over Harry’s phone.  
It’s a mess of limbs, and quite a lot of failure on Louis’ part-- (how on Earth are Harry’s arms that long?)-- but they laugh regardless. They end up nearly falling off the sofa, in fact, Harry’s elbow resting on the floor as he bats Louis’ hands away, giggling madly-- but somewhere inbetween the transition from sofa to floor, Louis ends up putting pressure on Harry’s knee.  
Harry instantly scowls, reeling back, hands darting to his leg. “Hey! M’still recovering here.”  
“Oh sorry, sorry!” Louis scrambles up, fringe falling over his eyes in a panic. “Are you okay?”  
“Ow, Ow, Ow.” Harry grimaces.  
“Come and sit back down, let me take a look.”  
“It’s fine, Lou, honestly.”  
“Come on, put your trousers up.” Louis stands up, trying to tug the hem of Harry’s jeans up.  
Harry is bewildered, looking up at him with wide eyes from the floor.“Umm. M’not sure I--”  
“Damn you and your skinny jeans.” Louis puts his hands on his hips. “Ok, you’re going to have to take your trousers off.”  
Harry looks hesitant.  
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Louis says, beaming, tilting his head to the side.  
“Cheeky.” Harry huffs.  
Niall comes back with a tray laden to the brim with food, not even questioning why Harry’s on the floor, noiselessly tucking in in the corner and killing the moment.  
As soon as Niall enters, Harry gets back up, and instantly goes back to scrolling on his phone, so Louis finds it an opportune time to drop the subject and begin strumming his guitar.  
Niall joins him in their mindless guitar riffs a few minutes later, and so, the next few minutes are spent. Niall eventually tags onto Harry’s quietness, and finds himself quite liable to intervening.  
“Are we boring you Styles? Whatcha doing?” He asks, quite curious as to why Harry is smiling privately to himself rather than bowing down to him in the wake of his amazing guitar riff.  
“Uh…” Harry holds his phone out. “Emmet climbed the Kilimanjaro, man. Just sent me a picture.”  
“Of course he did.” Louis rolls his eyes, not even bothering to look.  
“Sick, man!” Niall looks genuinely impressed, which pisses Louis off.  
In fact, anything remotely blond and tanned is pissing Louis off right now. He’s desperate to change the subject.  
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long, as they’re being called up to begin another endless day of work.  
**  
It’s the next day that the lads saddle down to record the last song of the album-- “Better Than Words.” It’s an innocent, low-intensity love song, the kind of song that Louis loves writing, but intensely fears the idea of recording. And he’s jittery now, to say the least, foot bobbing up and down, a bad mood curbing over his expression.  
“I can’t record this now.” He declares.  
“Why not?” Liam asks, ever-so patiently.  
“My voice is shitty today.”  
“No one told you to burn the midnight oil with Ni yesterday.” Zayn states.  
“Good times.” Niall grins, goofily, high fiving Louis over the coffee table.  
“Liam and me will start, while you…” Zayn sighs, gesturing to nothing in particular.  
“Yeah, yeah.” Louis nods and shakes his head at the same time. He feels weird today.  
Unbelievably restless.  
“Do you want me to help you warm up?” Niall asks.  
“No, thanks. I need Harry. Where is the cheeky bastard?”  
“He said he’ll be a little late.” Niall looks at his phone. “Gemma’s in town.”  
“Oh. Okay.”  
The news does nothing to help Louis’ mood.  
**  
“Fucking shit.”  
Louis is in the back alley of the studio, lividly chomping on a cigarette, kicking soda cans to the curb and past the bins and back. He’s angry for no particular reason, his feelings more reasonably bordering on empty, his eyelids feeling like they’re going to droop any minute.  
He doesn’t have any legitimate reason to feel this way and it’s pissing him off.  
A pigeon lands on top of the bin and stares at him.  
“Oh, fuck off.” He states, flipping it his middle finger, before continuing to kick cans across the courtyard.  
He does it until the pigeon flies off, and then he does it some more, just for the hell of it, and then, he does it until the cans end up disappearing in the dark and his anger starts to wear thin. Soon enough, he’s feeling more empty than anything else, energy gone, lively kicks sending the cans scattering turning into pathetic little pushes.  
He’s just about finished kicking, his interests turning towards stomping the cans into oblivion, when a tall, lumbering figure comes walking out of the shadows, fresh in a dark blue coat and skinny jeans, trademark curls looking softer than ever.  
He smiles at Louis’ appearance, tucking his hands into his pockets.  
“What did the can do to you? Tell me, I’ll sue.”  
Louis’ face melts into a slight composition of happiness when he sees Harry, and he wastes no time at all in running up to him and hugging him tight.  
“Fuck. Thank God you’re here.” He says, face nuzzled into Harry’s collarbone.  
“Why? What’s wrong?” Harry frowns, tone instantly concerned.  
“I swear, I’m going to quit this fucking band.” Louis says, gloomily, chin bobbing in the crook of Harry’s neck.  
“What are you talking about?” Harry smiles, lightheartedly, looking down at Louis.  
“I can’t sing.”  
“Maybe you should start with quitting these.” Harry says, taking the cigarette packet from Louis’ pocket, looking at him pointedly.  
“I’m serious. The duet. I can’t do it.”  
“Sure you can.”  
“You’re not hearing me. I can’t do the note. I think you’re going to have to do it with Li.”  
Harry stares at him for a few seconds, before his expression borders into preposterous, and he lets out a small laugh.  
“Absolutely not.”  
“Why not?”  
“If you’re not doing it, m’not doing it without you.” Harry says, shrugging--- “It’s as simple as that.”  
Louis furrows his brow.  
“Come on.” Harry says, taking Louis’ hand, throwing the cigarette packet in the bin on the way.  
He takes Louis to one of the empty side rooms and comes to a halt on the arm of one of the sofas there, hands folded in his lap.  
“Let’s hear it.” He says.  
Louis’ gaze flickers around. “I-- I feel a little on the spot here.”  
“As opposed to when you’re singing in front of thousands of people?”  
“Point taken.”  
“Come on. You know I won’t judge you. Ever.”  
“Alright.”  
Everyone tri--  
Louis stops abruptly and makes a face, cringing at the sound of his own voice.  
“No. Nope. Can’t do this.”  
Harry genuinely looks concerned. “Lou. Are you warmed up? You don’t sound warmed up.”  
“I-- pfff --” Louis shrugs. “I was busy, and I hate it, so…”  
“Okay.” Harry stands up, places a warm hand on Louis’ waist.  
Louis growls, rolling his head back.  
“C’mon.” Harry laughs. “You always do this. You hurry through your vocal warm up and then you get frustrated.”  
Louis exhales loudly.  
“Okay, you’ve got to relax a little... You got to warm up your body a little first.”  
Louis looks at him, batting his eyelashes.  
“Um, so to speak.” Harry adds, tone awkward, quickly removing his hands from Louis’ waist.  
“Look at you, all professor like.” Louis teases.  
“M’not this difficult during our piano lessons, you know? And that’s because I do whatever you tell me to do.”  
“As you and everyone should.” Louis deadpans.  
Harry laughs, before walking behind Louis, and planting two square hands on Louis’ shoulders. At the new touch, Louis closes his eyes, and begins to tilt his head from one side of the other.  
Because of course yoga boy is good at massages.  
(Of course.)  
“Mmmh.” Louis says. “It feels amazing.”  
Harry huffs, all business now.“Don’t fall asleep on me. We got work to do.”  
Louis bites his lip to keep himself from laughing.  
(Harry acting like massages are insanely important just seems like a hilarious subject to him.)  
But he’s soon shut up when Harry steps a little closer, fingertips skirting up Louis’ back.  
His touch feels like static rushing up Louis’ spine.  
“Right. You’ve got to release up here,” Harry says, touching Louis’ throat and shoulders, fingertips moving down to his lower stomach--- “And engage down here.”  
Louis leans back into Harry’s embrace, not really listening to his words, eyes shut, heartbeat hammering extraordinarily fast from within his chest.  
It feels like home.  
“It improves fullness of the upper range and makes ‘belting’ a lot easier.” Harry says in Louis’ ear, voice no more than a whisper.  
Louis very much suspects Harry’s doing it because he knows he isn’t listening, but it still doesn’t stop the rush of butterflies that basically fucking implode on his chest, constricting his throat, making his head a blur.  
“Uhuh.” Is all he can say.  
“Okay. Now yawn.” Harry instructs.  
“Mm?”  
“Yawn. And pay attention to the stretching feeling inside your throat. It completely releases.”  
“Okay.” Louis yawns and snorts.  
Harry is silent still behind Louis, his fingertips on Louis’ shoulders now. The lack of sound makes Louis uneasy.  
Is he doing something wrong?  
“I feel silly.” Louis says, the back of his head still square on Harry’s collarbone.  
“Come on, it will help you release the, um, tension.” Harry breathily laughs at the silliness of his sexual innuendos before continuing, evidently trying to hold a deeper laugh in. “Okay, again, allow your throat to open up. You don’t want it to squeeze in tight. It’s not something you want to force to happen, it’s something I want you to allow to happen.”  
Louis clasps onto Harry’s hand, obviously laughing too.  
“M’serious. Now lip roll.”  
Louis begins to make the notes in lip roll, Harry still massaging his shoulders.  
“Take a breath, let it come out. Lip roll. Good. Good.”  
“This is stupid.” Louis huffs, embarrassed, trying to get out of Harry’s embrace, but Harry is not letting him.  
“Just be stupid with me for now.” He says.  
Louis sighs and complies.  
“Now shake your head no and lip roll.”  
Louis complies, trying to hold back his embarrassment just for the sake of it.  
“Now, let’s play a little with range, from head voice down to chest voice.” Harry says. “Nice.”  
Niall enters the room just in time to witness the silliness that is Louis doing lip roll in Harry’s arms, and instantly frowns. “We have a vocal coach, you know that, right?”  
“Do you see her anywhere? No. So get out-- please.” Louis deadpans.  
“Okayyy.” Niall leaves, shutting the door behind him.  
“Where were we?” Louis leans his head back onto Harry’s collarbone, relaxing a little.  
Harry represses a smile at the sight. “Okay, so now, choose a song. Any song you like. Something that you’re familiar with.”  
Louis then jumps and turns over, beginning to hum the beginning of a guitar melody.  
Darling, you gotta let me know  
Should I stay or should I go?  
If you say that you are mine  
I'll be there till the end of time  
So you gotta let me know  
Should I stay or should I go?  
Now Louis is dancing ridiculously, doing hip thrusts, nodding his fringe up and down, having fun. Harry laughs but begins the next verse.  
It's always tease, tease, tease  
You're happy when I'm on my knees ---Harry gives Louis a playfully pointed look--  
One day is fine and the next is black  
So if you want me off your back  
Well, come on and let me know  
Should I stay or should I go?  
They end up both on the couch, air guitaring, legs in the air and heads shaking.  
Should I stay or should I go now?  
Should I stay or should I go now?  
If I go there will be trouble  
And if I stay it will be double  
So come on and let me know  
Niall enters the room again, bewildered at the sight. His face, however, only adds to Harry and Louis’ manic laughs.  
“Do I even want to know?” Niall says, eyes wide.  
“No!” Harry and Louis chant, cackling, harmonious.  
Niall shakes his head, as if disciplining two kids. “Come on then, time for your part.”  
**  
Everyone tries (they try)  
To see what it feels like (feels like)  
But they'll never be right  
'Cause it's better, it's better, it's better  
Sure, it takes them forever to get it right, but it’s not because of Louis’ voice, it’s because they keep nudging each other. And laughing, and snorting, and distracting each other with funny faces and air guitaring.  
When the day is done, just before leaving the studio, Louis nudges Harry and says:--“Not too bad for a day’s work, huh?”  
Harry hums, distracted, but doesn’t look at him.. He’s on his phone, sporting a shy smile.  
It’s Emmet.  
\- Guess who’s baaaaack soon! smiley face - muscly arm - mountain emoji  
Harry is quick to type a reply.  
\- Just in time to be my date for the release of our latest album party then :)  
**  
Harry is nervous getting ready. Does this count as a first or a second date with Emmet? He wouldn’t know. He’s beyond nervous for some reason, the feeling creeping up his chest and forearms and making him feel like jelly. It’s a feeling that scoops him up whole, tossing and turning him around, and refusing to let go.  
It only gets worse when he opens the door to find Emmet there, looking absolutely stunning in a suit, his hair pinned back and a charming, intense smile planted on his features, as always. And he’s a gentleman all of the way from Harry’s house to the party, chatting excitedly about his journeys, comparing tan lines and crazy holiday stories from years long gone.  
And when they get to the party, Harry’s nerves don’t stop. They continue to sizzle underneath his stomach, beneath all of the purple and blue lights, through the hot air and the thick crowd. He wastes no time introducing Emmet to everyone, though, even his mother and sister, despite the throbbing nerves rotating in his system.  
The worst part is that he doesn’t even know why they’re there.  
He spotted Louis with Eleanor earlier, standing out from the crowd like a flashlight, making his stomach turn uncomfortably and his nerves flare. He’s yet to speak to Louis, but is in no hurry, as he knows full well the last time Louis and Emmet saw each other, it was a catastrophe.  
Emmet soon leaves the conversation to get refills, but ends up in talks with Harry’s mum on the way. Harry’s in no rush to intercept, them, though. Champagne is buzzing over his system and Gemma is walking his way.  
The first thing she does, of course, is begin to fan herself.  
“He’s so hot Haz, I’m actually melting here.” She gapes, glancing Emmet’s way. “Can I nab him when you're not home?”  
Harry blinks. “Gem, he's gay.”  
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be walking around with a hunk of walking sex appeal?”  
“Gem, eww.”  
“He's not even your type!”  
“I don’t have a type.”  
“What am I saying. Of course you don't have a type, you only have Louis.” Gemma adds in a huff.  
Harry is speechless at that, but she’s not finished.  
“I bet he can crack nuts with his buttcheeks.” She looks at Emmet though her champagne glass.  
“Well I hope not.”  
“I’m sure that’ll come handy in the bedroom though.”  
“Are you kidding? His ass is too defined.” Louis says, like he’s been summoned. How long has he been there? Harry has no idea.  
“Lou. How are you, love? You look good. I see you’re sporting a nice beard tonight.” Gemma says, patting his cheek, sarcasm dripping from her words.  
“Oh God.” Harry retreats.  
If it’s going to be that kind of conversation, Harry is out of here. He goes to find Emmet and Anne instead, hoping their conversation will be a little more awe-inspiring than the latter. But Anne is not her open charming self when Harry gets there. In fact, she’s pursing her lips, looking a little puzzled, like she’s trying to figure Emmet out.  
**  
“Well, sure, Harry is really talented. But you gotta admit, that the concept of music in reality tv is quite preposterous. The band is manufactured. It could have been anyone else if you really think about it.”  
Anne doesn’t answer.  
“Everything is rigged. It’s lucky half of them can sing and that they get along, even!” Emmet chortles.  
Anne is frowning by now.  
“And don’t get me started on the closeting and targeting teenage girls. What is this? Are we back in the fifties?”  
Anne nods (because she can agree on that).  
“Are we talking about my wardrobe?” Harry says, cheekily, joining them.“Hey, mum.”  
“Ummm, sweetheart,” Anne looks between them-- “Emmet was just telling me about his daily work out and the Zumba dvd he’s launching soon.”  
“Yes, I would like it to become the reference for older women such as yourself to get rid of disgraceful love handles.” Emmet says, running his hands through his hair for the fiftieth time.  
Anne gives him a look.  
Emmet itches at the back of his neck. “Or, um, just stay in shape obviously.”  
Harry laughs it off, putting his hand on his mother’s shoulders, trying to ease her puzzled look.  
**  
It’s a little later. Louis is making his way through the party, looking for nobody in particular, when he spots Gemma beside the foodbar. She’s obviously bordering on drunk, her voice loud, and her speech slightly slurred, but Louis reckons he may as well try and make conversation with her. They’ve gotten on before, and, what the Hell, she’s stood on her own…  
He makes his way over to her. She has a glass in her hand, and is sipping on it ferociously when she spots him.  
“It looks like your mum isn’t too fond of Emmet.” He says, trying to break the ice.  
She instantly wrinkles her nose. “Don’t gloat, it’s not a good look.”  
“I’m not gloating, I’m…”  
“You know, I was rooting for you, Lou.” She turns her whole body to Louis.  
“I’m--” Louis is caught off guard by her sudden aggressive tone.  
“He deserves so much better than this shit you’re pulling.”  
“Hey, I’m not pulling anything.” Louis argues, brow lowering. “In fact, I’m keeping my distance.”  
“Keep telling yourself that, Louis.” She says, almost venomously. “If it helps you sleep at night.”  
“Wh--?”  
“Seriously, What did you expect? Did you want him to wait for you all his life?”  
“I think you’ve had enough, Gem.” Harry interrupts, coming out of nowhere, taking her drink from her hand.  
Louis retreats, clearly flustered.  
Gemma scoffs at Harry. “What? I’m not sorry. I’m on your side. Someone should put him in his place every once in awhile.”  
**  
“Boo! There you are!” Eleanor beams, upon Louis’ return.  
“Yeah, I’ve been around.” Louis puts his hand on her shoulder.  
\---Getting my arse kicked.  
“You mum has been telling me about you and Ed. It’s hilarious. I didn’t know you were co-captains of your footie team at primary school.”  
Ed his beaming beside Louis’ mum, grinning wide. Louis has to resist the urge to stick his middle finger up at him.  
He scoffs. “Mum, you need to stop drinking, your memory is playing tricks on you. I was the captain, Ed was a cheerleader.”  
“Keep telling yourself that, mate.” Ed chuckles.  
They laugh.  
On the sidelines, however, Eleanor keeps insisting that she be introduced to Harry’s new friend.  
**  
Over in the quieter side of the party, right behind the juice bar, Liam is moping. He’s been using the event as an excuse to exit conversations like mad, avoid old friends like the plague, and drink a little too much from the bar.  
He thinks he’s unnoticed.  
Zayn, however, very much thinks the opposite.  
“Hey Li, you alright?” He decides to approach Liam after a while of watching him sorrowfully limp around the party, his protective urges becoming a little too much.  
Liam gives him a sad smile. “Not really.”  
Zayn holds his hands out. “You should be celebrating, mate. It’s our fucking third album party.”  
“I don’t feel like celebrating.”  
Zayn puts his hands down, a little sigh huffing from his lips. “Are you moping because Sophia didn’t come?”  
“Wh--? Sophia Smith?”Liam’s eyes shoot wide. “Nah. I’m not into her anymore.”  
“Already? Wow. That was fast.”  
“I don’t feel like tying myself down to a girl, that’s all.”  
“There are plenty of girls to go around here tonight. Look at Niall.” Zayn cocks his head.  
In the direction in which he’s nodding, Niall is literally being hoarded over in the corner, a happy smile on his face as several blindfolded girls giggle and try to pin a tail on the “donkey”.  
The donkey, in this case, apparently being ‘Niall’s crotch’.  
“Niall. What an easy going lad.” Liam laughs, but he still looks sad.  
“What is it, Li?” Zayn lets out a frustrated huff. “You know you can talk to me anytime. About anything, right? We’re mates.”  
Liam looks sheepish. “Among other things.”  
“Yeah, but we’re still mates first and foremost.”  
Liam hesitates, before sighing, and looking at the ground. “Remember I told you my parents wouldn’t come because they had a previous engagement somewhere?”  
Zayn leans next to him on the wall, raven hair clashing with the bright red wallpaper.“I believe you said your cousin was getting married.”  
“I lied.”  
Zayn waits for him to continue, patient as always.  
Liam lets out a deep, hollowing sigh, and then says--“I came out as bisexual to them.”  
Zayn is a mixture of speechless and just...shocked.  
He looks like he’s searching for words to say, but before they leave his lips, Liam is already there, holding up a pausing hand and sighing himself. “Before you say anything, it has nothing to do with you.”  
“Oooookaay?”  
“I was tired of the lying. And the homophobic innuendos and I wanted to be true to myself.” Liam bangs his head against the wall. “And have their support. Fuck.”  
“I gather they didn’t take it too well?”  
“Well they’re not here, are they?”  
Zayn nods and put a delicate hand on Liam’s.  
“Come on. You’re coming back to my place with me. I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”  
Liam glances at him.“That must be the worst pick up line you’ve tried on me yet.”  
Zayn laughs.  
“Well I wasn’t trying to pull you. I was merely offering moral support, ice cream and cuddles.” He cocks his head to the side.  
“Is sex off the table then?” Liam asks, a ghost of a smile on his face.  
“Sex is never off the table with you. As a matter of fact, sex is often on the table with you!”  
They both laugh.  
“Come on. I want to watch Friends and eat cookies.”  
Liam smiles. “As long as I can eat your arse after.”  
Zayn huffs and shakes his head.  
**  
Eleanor is being so insistent about meeting Emmet that Louis has no choice but to cave. He’s afraid, quite frankly, of the answer he’ll give when she asks why he refused in the first place. But regardless, they end up joining Harry’s conversational group, which currently consists of Harry, Emmet, and Gemma.  
Louis’ biggest fans at the moment, obviously.  
“Emmet, I would like to introduce you to Eleanor, my girlfriend.” Louis says, tone clipped. There’s tension in his shoulders and a stiff smile plastered on his face.  
Emmet’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “Your girl--? Hi! I’m Emmet!”  
Eleanor beams, shaking his hand. “It’s been a pleasure to finally meet you! I heard so much about you!”  
“Oh, really? Ummm, So did I!”  
Harry’s face is between a smile and bewilderment. His chin is in his hand, his arm wrapped around himself.  
He’s very aware, although he may not be showing it, of Emmet’s hand on the small of his back.  
“Yeah, mate.” Louis looks a little justified, defiant even, at Emmet’s response. “I told her all about our little skydiving adventure.”  
Emmet nods and laughs nervously. He’s trying to catch Harry’s eye.  
“Yeah.” Louis nods, with the fakest smile in the history of mankind. “You sure know how to fall from the sky out of nowhere.”  
Harry laughs but it sounds more pained than anything. Emmet’s grip tightens on his waist.  
“Well you sure hit it off with Harry. That’s nice.” Eleanor says, turning her body to Harry, who just shakes his head at her obliviousness.  
Awkward.  
AwkwardAwkwardAwkward.  
Louis puts a slightly protective arm around Eleanor’s waist. Harry tries (and fails) to ignore it.  
“I really like your necklace, Harry, where did you get it?” Eleanor says, clueless as always.  
Harry spits champagne from his nose.  
“Uhm...”  
Gemma is just glaring at Louis at this point, eyes slits, mouth becoming a small, taut line.  
Louis doesn’t say anything, which doesn’t help the situation at all. He starts staring at his feet all of a sudden, shuffling his soles over the carpet.  
“I gave him it.” Gemma says.  
And both Harry and Louis look up.  
“Yeah, see, Harry and I, we’re like free agents, carefree, enjoying life, flying without wings and all that shit.” Gemma is talking passive aggressively towards Louis, lips turned into a cruel pout.  
She looks beyond pissed off.  
“Oh?” Eleanor doesn’t seem to understand, oblivious to the tension.  
“It’s more a private joke than anything.” Gemma scowls, looking right at Louis, before bumping past him and exiting the conversation. “A sick, sad joke.”  
There’s a moment of silence. But before anyone can speak, Nick is bursting through the crowd, approaching Louis with a full lemonade cup and a huge, goofy smile.  
“Tommmoooo!”  
Just when Louis thought his day couldn’t get any shittier.  
“Not today, Dick.” Louis just leaves.  
He ignores the screams in a corner, apparently involving Niall.  
**  
“Hey Lou! You’re not leaving are you?” Ed stops Louis on his way out, fingertips brushing against his elbow.  
“Well, I--”  
“Cause I need to ask you something important.”  
**  
Beside the bar, the party is still in full swing. More and more drunks have been consumed, and everybody is getting a little rowdy, drunken limbs swinging in random and slumped patterns, eyelids low. Speech is becoming blurred, actions are being mistaken, and before long, it starts to have an affect on the happy-go-lucky feeling that previously coated the evening.  
Which, of course, means that Niall is absolutely losing it.  
Of course.  
“Wootton, I’m going to have your head if it’s the last thing I do, I swear to God!” He spits, fists clenched, the loud cheers from the people around him merely boosting it.  
“Why so sensitive, Niall?” Dan cocks his head, bitchily. “Scared that I’ll spill some truth tea?”  
“That would be a nice change, you fucking poor excuse for a journalist.”  
Dan taps his chin. “I mean, I got a source. Pretty reliable one, in fact, saying that you and Sus--”  
BANG.  
He doesn’t have time to finish the sentence as Niall is rushing head-first into him, knocking him back, causing his legs to give way and his bum to slam down onto the floor. Niall punches Dan once in the jaw before finding himself being tugged back by not-so-drunken partygoers, feet dragging along the floor, his face absolutely livid. Dan is lying on the stairs, a huge red spot curving over his chin. It looks, quite honestly, like he’s merely fainted.  
And, for a few seconds, there’s silence. Half of the people stood around them are stunned. Every journalist there is getting pictures, videos, you name it.  
Even some of the guests.  
The cessation is broken, however, when their manager comes stumbling down the bar stairs and tugs Niall outside. The air is cold, the wind whipping against Niall’s skin and sobering him instantly. But it’s only when his manager starts to speak that he understands the consequences of his actions-- or, more likely, the repercussions of his actions-- eyes fluttering shut, pink cheeks puffing in and out.  
His heart's thumping like a bass drum.  
“Are you fucking insane? Tomorrow your face is going to be all over the tabloids.” The manager bellows at him. “No one will talk about the album, only the good boy gone rogue from One Direction, hitting journalists. Do you want to follow into Justin Bieber’s footsteps? Do you want your reputation to go down the drain?”  
Niall sucks in a cold breath. “Don’t worry about it.”  
“What? This is a fucking PR disaster Niall!”  
“I said I’ll handle it. I have a guy.”  
The next day, nobody has a whiff of proof about Niall’s brawl.  
Funnily enough, Dan Wootton has lost his access to the band.  
**  
Two days later.

3:23  
Lou (--bear emoji--): 911. EMERGENCY. MAYDAY. CODE RED. I’M HAVING A CRISIS.  
3:25  
Curly: What kind of crisis? Because I know you ;) Is it a “I can’t find my car keys come pick me up” crisis, or an “I am bleeding on the floor, because I tried to reach the upper shelf all by myself” crisis?  
3:27  
Lou (--bear emoji --): Ha fucking ha. Ed asked me to write a song for his album, can you believe the needy jerk? I can’t turn him down, but what I’m coming up with is shitty af. Help?  
3:45  
Curly: Yes, I can believe it, and yes, I’ll help. I’m busy now but I can come by your place tonight.  
3:45  
Curly: Please don’t cook.  
3:46  
Lou (--bear emoji--): Fuck you. Also, thank you.  
3:47  
Curly: -- thumbs up emoji -- kissy face emoji.  
**  
Harry is, in fact, busy… on what he presumes is a double date with Zayn, Liam, and Emmet (in which the latter insisted on taking him on a tour his place of work). It sounded like a good idea at first, but now, as he finds himself rather awkwardly third-wheeling in the backseat as Zayn and Liam A: not do very much driving and B: fawn over each other in the front, he doesn’t feel so sure.  
But, nonetheless, somehow, between quite-obvious crotch groping and long giggling sessions, Zayn and Liam end up finding Emmet’s gym easily enough-- and Harry is more than grateful to bundle himself out of the back door at first notice. The car park is glistening grey, fresh tarmac stretching out beneath his feet, flat, and neverending-- and the building is sleek and modern. Steely, huge letters clearly spell out the words “RIDER’S GYM” above the door, and just to the right, a huge stack of fitness brochures and workout sheets rest beneath a huge blue canopy.  
Harry isn’t going to lie, it looks nice.  
But on the other hand, he didn’t really know what he was expecting.  
“Hey! There you are!” Emmet greets them steadily at the door:-- a kiss on the cheek for Harry, measured handshakes for Zayn and Liam. “Let me give you the grand tour.”  
And it’s then that the three find themselves being guided around a carpet-strewn masterpiece; angular, triangle-edged walls curving off every room, sexy, dark greys and reds plastered over each and every wall in alternating patterns, mirrors reflecting their every move over the ceilings and doors. The whole place has this sleek, steely shine to it:-- and even the employees, clad in dark red yoga pants, their badges gleaming bright and steady-- seem to mirror this exact same effect.  
It’s almost weird. But it’s nice.  
The cafeteria is located right in the steely heart of the gym-- glass panes cocooning in the entire area, the rows upon rows of gym equipment behind them clearly visible to those dining there-- and it’s there that the boys finish their little tour. Once they’re seated, conversational topics pass by idly between the four, the most of which Harry spends staring, not-too-subtly, at the energy drink Emmet is loudly slurping on.  
Who knew Emmet, too, would bow down to a corporate monstrosity such as Lucozade?  
But what captures Harry’s attention more than anything else during their little chat is the loud commotion coming from all around them, constant noise in the background. As he turns around to look (because really, who isn’t going to turn around when they hear fucking glass smashing behind them) it soon becomes quite clear that the source of the noise is Vincent, struggling to balance a huge box of headbands on his chest and knocking over everything in his path. He’s clad in a bright red t-shirt and high socks, and the way his legs are wobbling across the carpet makes him look ridiculous.  
And, yeah. As luck would have it, there’s a huge pile of broken glass scattered around his feet.  
“Vincent…” Emmet grits, blinking Vincent’s way.  
It’s then that Vincent seems to notice the pieces of vase below his trainers, eyes widening, lips forming a small pout. “Oh. Ohhh. Sorry. I’ll clear that up.”  
Emmet simply sighs, pinching his brow, turning away.  
Vincent makes a small attempt at pushing the glass to the side before glancing up again, noticing Harry, and letting a small, awkward smile engulf his features. “Oh! Hi! Harry! I hope you're okay! The last time I saw you, you were....uhm....bleeding everywhere.”  
“Thanks, Vincent.” Emmet grits.  
Harry coughs awkwardly.  
Vincent laughs. “I mean, like, I can't remember much from that weekend, but you bleeding was definitely one of the moments... I mean...there was a lot of blood--”  
“Shut up, Vincent.” Emmet sing-songs, obviously tense.  
“Okay. Yup.” Vincent says, itching at his neck. “I mean, I just have to go...You know....Uhm...”  
And then, in a flurry of leg movements and with another loud crash, he's gone. In his absence, Liam and Zayn can barely refrain from laughing.  
“So, what's the deal with him?” Harry asks.  
Emmet rubs the bridge of his nose. “We met at the skydiving center. I kind of took him under my wing, and now he’s like a brother to me. When he needed work, I hired him here, and voilà.”  
Harry nods. Beside them, Liam and Zayn are watching men doing their work out from through the glass panes.  
Liam pouts. “Zee? Are you drooling?”  
“Um, no.” Zayn blushes scarlet. “No!”  
“Heh.”Liam wiggles his eyebrows.“Wait until I begin my work out then.”  
Emmet receives a text then. He doesn’t look happy.  
“Is something wrong?” Harry asks; unconsciously skirting his hand to Emmet’s.  
“The purchasing of my second gym isn’t going according to plan.” Emmet makes a face. “I don’t understand why the owner doesn’t want to sell. It’s irritating. I mean I know the place is the work of his lifetime, but--”  
“What do you mean?”  
“He’s had this gym since the 80’s. It’s old as fuck, he only has regulars. He’s old himself, like at least fifty. It’s time to retire, man. Time to let young blood take over.”  
Harry tries to sound sympathetic. “Maybe he’s not ready to let it go?”  
“Yeah, well, too bad. We had a deal.” Emmet looks genuinely upset. “I don’t care that he inherited it from his dad. Like if he cared as much as he says, maybe he would’ve replaced the old equipment, you know? Maybe the place would be used for other things than being the go-to spot for elderly bingo. Like, I shit you not. It upsets me.”  
“Okay.” Harry says. “Let’s change the subject, then.”  
At this point, he’s not exactly sure anything he could say would please Emmet.

**

After the date, Harry goes to Louis’ place. There’s a key to the apartment hidden underneath an incredibly ugly dwarf statue in the lobby, especially there for moments when Louis is too drunk to find his keys or his jeans are too tight to keep them in:--“This ass is not to be deformed with trivial things like keys in back pockets Harold, I’ll have you know.”-- and, well, it’s funny.  
Even though it’s sort of the truth.  
Harry finds the apartment in a semi-frantic state. It’s usual, homey nature is corroded by mess-- guitars long buried under piles upon piles of music sheets, scrumpled crisp packets lining a jagged path to the couch. It would almost appear a perfect visage of the chagrin of a working artist, but Louis is not working at all.  
Nah.  
Louis is lounging on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and sighing loudly at the fuckshit that is his life.  
“Well, if it’s not Louis Moplinson.” Harry decides to make his presence known in the doorway, clad tight in black jeans and an overcoat, his hair casting curly shadows across the gold lighting.  
Louis doesn’t bat an eyelid at Harry’s arrival. “Don’t underestimate Louis Moplinson. He’s far more successful than Louis Sulkinson and is handsomer than Louis Drooplinson.”  
“Scoot.” It’s not soon before Harry is sitting down beside Louis on the couch, propping Louis’ legs on top of his own, reclining into the layers upon layers of cushions there.  
Louis just stares at the floor. He’s snuggled in a black t-shirt and jogger bottoms, the firelight flickering titian and carmine light across his skin like paint on a blank canvas. He looks extremely soft in this moment, his eyes pale from beneath his eyelashes, every move he’s making small and delicate.  
And yeah. It’s sort of hard not to feel anything for him.  
God.  
“Okay. What’s wrong? M’listening.” Harry says, patiently, shifting his legs a little.  
“Ed fucking Sheeran.” Louis looks up at him. “I’m pretty sure that bastard has been plotting revenge since we were twelve. He never got over the fact that I got Danny Zuko’s part, I’m telling you.”  
Harry laughs.  
“You think I’m kidding?” Louis crosses his arms. “Why else would he ask me so casually to write him a song? He’s a fucking sadistic twat. I’ll never speak to him again.”  
Harry nods at this, still smiling.  
“He’s a bloody songwriter! When I would say ‘I want to kiss you’, he would say ‘All I want is the taste that your lips allow’.” Louis mocks, tone angry. “This is bloody ridiculous. I can’t do this. It must be a sick joke on his part. There’s no other explanation.”  
“Or…”  
“Or nothing.”  
Harry leans in a little. “Or, he likes your songs and he wants one for himself.”  
“And you know what? It’s even worse than that.” Louis isn’t really listening, too concentrated on his venting. “He wants a duet for him and Nina Nesbitt. A fucking duet. Who does he think I am? The Sonny to his Cher? Fuck this shit. I’m calling him right now, I’m turning him down.”  
Louis shuffles to get up, but Harry sticks a hand out over his waist, stopping him. “Noooo. You’re not. You’re writing this song.”  
“But--” Louis makes a reluctant noise, but Harry is having none of it.  
“Ed doesn’t want an Ed song.” His face is oddly serious now, oddly focused. “Ed wants a straight forward, don’t beat around the bush ‘I want to kiss you’ song and that’s what you’re going to deliver.”  
Louis scowls, but he seems to be pondering Harry’s words. His lips part and meet a few times, before he finally caves, brows scrunched up---  
“I kinda have a beginning of a semi melody, maybe, sorta.”  
Harry beams. “Let’s hear that masterpiece then.”  
Louis gets up with a shy smile, shaking his head, and retrieves his guitar from the back of the sofa. “Yours is in the study.”  
Harry gets up also. “Okay. Be right back.”  
(Yes, Harry has a guitar in Louis’ home. And no, they don’t talk about it. It’s been there for four years and has followed Louis through every move, found it’s way on top of every luggage pile, tossed and turned its way to being a necessity. Harry left it there one day, and never claimed it. He’s used it often over the years, and Louis has never asked if Harry wanted it back. This guitar, along with many other things, just belongs in Louis’ home. )  
Harry’s soon back in the living room, stick legs gangly moving from doorway to carpet, a monster, shiny black guitar in his hands. He joins Louis on the floor, cross-legged, guitars in their laps, as Louis begins strumming a melody and humming.  
“It’s lovely.” Harry says.  
“Meh.” Louis scrumples up his face.  
“What is the theme, though? Did Ed give you any directions?”  
“He said to let my muse do the talking.” Louis snorts. “Fucking bastard.”  
Harry laughs. “He trusts you. It’s nice, Lou. He’s used to writing his own shit. It’s really a compliment he’s paying you, if you think about it.”  
“Or he’s just a vengeful bastard. We’ll never know.”  
They both laugh.  
Harry tugs at the bumpy carpet.“You already have a theme though.”  
“If I do, it skipped my attention, Curly.”  
“The theme. It’s kissing. The straight forward kind, not the poetic shit he comes up with.” Harry grins. “Who wants that?”  
Louis beams.“Curly is coming on board. Oi Oiiii!”  
They laugh again.  
“I have some lyrics that could work if you want.” Harry gestures towards his notebook.  
“Um… I’d love to, but we can’t both be credited on the song.” Louis looks at the floor. ‘Simon would have our heads.”  
“I don’t mind. I can be credited under a pseudonym. Hell, the money could go to charity for all I care.”  
Louis blinks. “Any charity you want.”  
“Okay, the LGBT foundation, then.”  
Louis looks at him for a few seconds, face filled with intent, lips slightly parted. But then, as Harry looks back at him, blankly, he shifts into place, shuffling across the carpet to Harry’s notebook.  
“Alright.” He pops his lips. “I’ll donate my profits to the ‘Maserati for Louis fund’.”  
Harry huffs.  
“Or you know, I’ll donate to ‘Believe in Magic’. One or the other.”

Lyin' here with you so close to me  
It's hard to fight these feelings when it feels so hard to breathe  
Caught up in this moment  
Caught up in your smile  
I've never opened up to anyone  
So hard to hold back when I'm holding you in my arms  
We don't need to rush this  
Let's just take it slow  
Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
Just a touch of the fire burning so bright  
No I don't want to mess this thing up  
I don't want to push too far  
Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight

“That’s all I have for now.” Harry says.  
“Wow. God, it’s perfect.” Louis beams. “Let’s work on the next verse, yeah?”  
At the end of the night, Harry is incapable of saying who wrote what. All he remembers is Louis constantly hovering behind and around his shoulder, scribbling, doodling, striking and rewriting to make it all perfect. Louis’ breathy laugh, reverberating through his chest. Small smiles and crinkled eyes, reflected by the changing lights, made ethereal by the fireplace.  
At 3 a.m, they’re finally happy with it. Harry’s book is riddled with words that weren’t there before, phrases scribbled and torn and crumpled and etched, and yeah, even though his eyes feel like they’re falling out, he’s happy with it.  
He’s happy with this.

I know that if we give this a little time  
It'll only bring us closer to the love we wanna find  
It's never felt so real, no it's never felt so right  
Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
Just a touch of the fire burning so bright  
No I don't want to mess this thing up  
I don't want to push too far  
Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight  
No I don't want to say goodnight  
I know it's time to leave, but you'll be in my dreams  
Tonight  
Tonight  
Tonight  
When they finish recording the demo, the sun is just about rising, plunging the apartment into a deep, glistening light, casting the shadows out and rinsing the room of it’s previous tranquility. The clouds are kissed yellow as they daintily traipse out over the horizon; the rest of the sky a sleepy, watery blue behind it. It makes the room soft and Louis’ face even softer.  
Things are good.  
“Are you ready?” Louis asks.  
They’ve been all slow movements and quiet whispers ever since they’ve finished recording, drowsy limbs shuffling across carpet floors, breathy chuckles cutting through the shadowy guilt one always feels after staying up all night.  
“Ready when you are.” Harry answers.  
There’s a heaviness dipping on his words he hasn’t felt all night.

**

8:10  
Gingerbread: Ghhhaaaa. dsfjfju!dfdjcoids. heart emoji - party cone emoji.  
8:12  
Boo Fucklinson: Do you like it or are having an aneurysm?  
8:13  
Gingerbread: THIS ISN'T YOU TOMLINSON. HOW IS THIS YOU. HOLY SHIT.  
8:14  
Boo Fucklinson: Is there a compliment hiding somewhere or??  
8:15  
Boo Fucklinson: Ed?  
8:16  
Boo Fucklinson: Ed, I swear to God…  
8:17  
Gingerbread: I FUCKING LOVE IT.  
8:18  
Gingerbread: Is this Harry’s voice in the demo?  
8:20  
Boo Fucklinson: :p  
8:22  
Boo Fucklinson: Now I’m gonna sleep for 84 years. A needy pop star kept me up all night. xx  
8:24  
Gingerbread: I hope you got a - music note emoji - “Kiss good night” - music note emoji - :-D  
8:25  
Boo Fucklinson: I was talking about you, fuckhead.

**

It’s days later that Harry finds himself walking under rose-dipped skies, the light from the sunset splayed across the pavement and grass, bathing everything in a deep scarlet and making the tips of the trees ambient. The air is bordering on cool, the last verges of summer clinging desperately onto each and every form of life, swirling the first fallen leaves in miniscule tornadoes on the pavements, splaying warm light onto Harry’s face and coat.  
It’s not his favourite form of weather, but he’s very far from unhappy. He hasn’t got a while to walk; as Emmet dropped him off at the top of his street at the end of their date, very anxious to get back to the gym but lovely nonetheless, and the night is new. So things are good.  
He’s got nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.  
And his steady walk mirrors this as he clambers up the stairs of his porch, only stopping to retrieve his mail from the postbox at the bottom, a huge smile plastered all over his face. He’s humming only slightly to himself as he steps under the porch, fumbling in his pocket for his keys, reading the return addresses on the mail-- and humming so loudly, it seems, that he doesn’t notice the presence lingering just to the right of him.  
“So, Emmet didn’t get to come inside?” A voice says.  
Holy FUCK.  
Harry jolts, nearly dropping everything in his hands, his heart stammering terrifyingly fast within his chest. He pauses in his fright only to look up, eyes wide, hand placed on his torso as he tries to calm himself.  
Because the voice belongs to Louis, just Louis, of course it’s Louis-- simply leaning against the wall of Harry’s front porch, hiding in the shadows, his hands in his pockets and a shy smile on his face. He’s clad snugly in a thick denim jacket, one shoe resting against the brick, hair tossed messily across his forehead.  
And man, he looks beautiful in this light-- literally lit up-- with the sunset, made spectacular by the murky clouds dashing across the sky with nothing to lose, throwing the last of it’s technicolor glow across his face.  
“Jesus fuck, you scared me.” Harry responds, startled, a hand on his heart and his scarf, only there for decoration, really-- swirling in the wind. “You’re lucky the alarm didn’t go off.”  
Louis approaches a little sheepishly. “So, Emmet didn’t get to come inside?”  
“No.” Harry says, eyes gentle. He’s wearing a little smile, almost curiously, as he looks at Louis, head tilted to the side. “It’s only the third date. Emmet definitely doesn’t get to come inside.”  
Louis steps a little closer, the same sheepish smile tucked on his face, and plants himself in front of Harry. He looks so soft like this, with his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders held in a way that makes him look like he’s about to sprout wings.  
God, he’s so soft. Soft eyes, soft hair, soft tone, soft everything… Sometimes Harry feels like he could look at him forever.  
A part of him wishes he could.  
“That doesn’t seem to apply to me, though.” Louis says.  
Harry chuckles. “Let’s say that you always have been my weak spot.”  
“The exception?” Louis asks, softly, approaching his face to Harry’s.  
He stops mere centimetres away from his face and stays there for a few seconds, looking up at Harry, almost some kind of silent permission holding weight in the air. Harry is silent, barely breathing, his lips parted and his eyes slightly wide.  
Their eyes meet.  
Louis clenches his fists from inside of his pockets, worn taught from anticipation, and takes in a breath.  
Fuck it.  
He leans in and places a firm kiss on Harry’s lips.  
For a split second, Harry is stunned, dropping the mail at his feet, eyes wide open as Louis kisses him. But then, a feeling something like recognition takes over, and he leans in and kisses him back, placing careful hands on either side of Louis’ jaw and guiding them towards the wall. And it continues like this, thirsty, deep kisses being shared beneath the two, hidden by the shadow of the porch, buried away from the world and close to each other.  
And, then, it’s opening the door with a trembling hand, it’s closing the door with one foot, never detaching their lips from each other. It’s coats and scarfs dispersed in the dark hallway, the staircase and in front of Harry’s room, emotions and feelings long pent up crashing home all at once.  
It’s been months since they’ve last done this.

**  
It’s a few minutes later that Louis is lying down on his back, groaning as Harry slowly begins to ride him, back facing Louis’ torso, hands resting on his ankles for support. Louis is mesmerised by the image of Harry’s arse pulsing up and down as he bobs, head arching back, curls spilling over his neck. Harry rides him for about thirty seconds straight before swivelling his hips around, causing a whimper to escape Louis’ lips, and then, his hands to clutch onto Harry’s waist.  
It's a gut instinct Louis has in his belly when he shifts into taking control; beginning to thrust his own hips up, off the floor, to meet Harry as he continues to swirl. Harry lets out a laboured gasp before dipping his head down and starting to ride again, ceasing Louis’ movements, hands finding his from behind Harry’s back.  
“Oh God.” Louis whispers, as Harry clenches his buttcheeks together, moving down, so that his arse fully squishes onto Louis’ hips. “OhGodOhGodOhGod.”  
Harry lets in a deep gasp through his lips before rising once more, feeling Louis’ hands leave his and clench back onto each of his cheeks, holding them firm and close, ripples of pleasure wrecking their way up his body and up to his throat.  
Louis encourages each and every ebb and flow of Harry’s hips with his hands as he tilts his head up to watch; lips parted as Harry sinks and falls, finks and falls. It goes on like this until Louis simply can't take the lack of control anymore, and begins to thrust his own hips up again-- and this time, Harry lets him.  
Harry can’t see Louis right now, but he's imagining a portrait of beauty as he closes his eyes, letting Louis fuck him from below, the clenched nature of Louis’ fingertips on his waist proving an indicator of how much he likes it.  
Louis’ bum leaves the bed as he continues to rock into Harry, very much enjoying the curve of Harry’s arse against his hands, very much liking the way this feeling is enveloping him whole and making his brain turn into good, fresh static.  
“Mhmmh.” Harry cooes, tilting his head sideways to watch Louis.  
Their eyes meet through barely parted lashes. Louis’ lips are parted fully now, forming a nice red 'o', and Harry would give anything to kiss them.  
Louis’ gaze and hips fall to the floor as Harry begins to take control again, grasping onto Louis’ ankles for support as he leans forwards, providing a very nice view of what's going on for him. For a while, he just stares, mesmerised, at the steady movement of Harry's arse clapping down on his length-- and then, all he can do is moan, eyes involuntarily clamping shut.  
Harry swivels his hips around one more time before detaching himself completely, pausing only to kiss Louis on the neck before saddling himself atop him again; this time, so that they're facing. Louis holds his forearms as Harry begins to ride him again, Louis' head dipping back at the sight, Harry's length bobbing up and down, burning from the arousal, gliding around on his stomach.  
Louis reaches up for it blindly; stroking gentle touches up and down Harry's tip, and before he knows it, Harry is coming-- thighs trembling on either side of Louis’ cock, head falling loose on neck, hair splaying everywhere.  
He ceases all movement. Louis watches, lips parted, as Harry repositions himself on his hands and knees-- this time, so his mouth is between Louis' legs-- and proceeds to suck him off again, finally bringing Louis to his high. His orgasm shakes the room.  
After they finish, they settle into cuddling, caressing, and giggling for a while. Louis traces all of Harry’s tattoos but they don’t really talk, way too lost in each other’s eyes, way too happy to be together again.  
Harry falls asleep in Louis’ arms, and yes, all is well in the world.  
He’s right where he’s supposed to be.

**  
“Lou?”  
There’s something pounding in Harry’s chest when he wakes up, fresh from a nightmare, the panic and fear settled in his head washing away with the cold air that hits him once he sits up. He instantly shudders at the temperature, goosebumps rushing along his bare back and neck. He glances to the left almost as a motion of habit, his heart still booming from underneath his ribcage, but then, he sees the empty space there, and it’s almost as if his heart and brain is thrown under cold water all at once.  
He sighs loudly, chest deflating in front of him, before letting his head fall back on the pillow.  
Louis left.  
Again.  
Fuck.  
The room is full of sunshine, contradicting the cold of the room, casting a steady stream of dust motes from the window to the bed and making everything between shimmer. Harry stares at the ceiling for a few seconds, basking in his sudden misery, wondering where it all went wrong.  
His pondering is broken, however, the careful opening of the door jolts him upwards-- the sight awaiting him there enough to make his stomach lurch and his eyes widen.  
“Okay, sleepyhead, I tried my best, but remember I can’t cook to save my life.” Louis says, oblivious, approaching the bed with a full tray of food and a smile on his face.  
Well. This is new.  
“You want something healthy or something a little more darey?” Louis says, expression long past cheeky. “You thought I left, didn’t you?”  
Not so oblivious after all.  
“No, I didn’t.”  
“Yes, you did.” Louis smiles, still clutching the tray.  
His hair is extremely disheveled atop his head, sticking up at every mappable direction like a hedgehog clambering onto the duvet, and he’s wearing nothing but boxers and one of Harry’s old t-shirts. The warm, soft light is curving wonders onto his face, plotting out his collar and cheekbones in all of their paleness, making his hair shine buttercup in the sunshine and his smile to become almost celestial.  
In other words, he looks gorgeous.  
“Okay, I did.” Harry admits. “But you kinda did leave, technically.”  
“That doesn’t count! If you woke up a little earlier--” Louis puts the tray down, both shuffling beside Harry and pointing to the pillow--“You would have found me sound asleep right there.”  
“On your spot.” Harry follows his gaze.  
“Y… yeah.” Louis lies down beside Harry and grabs his cup of tea on the tray, a little hesitant.  
“Wow.” Harry turns around then, attention caught on the tray, a smile catching either side of his cheeks. “This looks disgusting. I love it. Thank you.”  
Louis laughs, leans in and kisses him. The kiss starts off as sweet, hands in lap, Harry craning his neck just a little, but Louis places a hand on his knee and things quickly escalate. It’s not long before Harry leans forward and is fully on top of Louis, pressing firm kisses along his lips and down to his cheek, and Louis is reaching out with blind hands to push the tray out of the way.  
His hair collides with the pillow behind his head as Harry sucks at his neck, suddenly very hungry for something other than food, and quite subconsciously, his hands tug at the nape of Harry’s hair. They’re fully laid down on the bed now, Harry’s legs still partly covered by the duvet, his head dipped down at Louis’ jaw and his hands on either side of his waist. He nips at the skin on Louis’ neck and giggles, wholeheartedly, as Louis’ eyes widen as a result of it.  
“This is not what I had planned for this morning.” Louis says, but he sounds less than sad about it.  
In fact, he’s leaning back up against Harry’s kisses, lifting his chin up, providing more access, curving his arms around his neck. Harry mumbles something between a mumble and a chuckle as he continues to lay kisses up and down Louis’ shoulders, feeling especially good about Louis’ hands in his hair, his eyes closed shut and their skin touching all over.  
“I wanna,” Harry says, pulling back just a little from Louis’ neck, “Wanna make you feel good.”  
“You are making me feel good.” Louis protests, still playing the humour game, but Harry knows what he’s doing when he begins to sink down beneath the sheets, past Louis’ crotch, breaking the contact between them.  
Louis’ grin soon fades as he watches Harry’s curls camber out of the gap between the duvet and his crotch, feeling his boxers quickly being tugged down, shuddering as Harry’s hands roam up his lower stomach. Harry is just a lump under the sheets right now; a huge mountain bobbing up and down, sucking and licking at the tip of Louis’ dick. And Louis-- well, Louis is unable to contain himself. He’s tipping his head back, letting out breathy whispers all the while, trying to keep it together and play it cool all at once.  
Whether it works, however, is a different matter altogether.  
“It feels weird not seeing you.” He admits, when Harry licks an especially teasing stripe down the side of his dick and onto his thigh.  
Fucker.  
“Peakaboo.” Harry grins, poking his head up through the duvet, wrapping it around his shoulders before continuing his little escapade, eyelashes fluttering shut.  
He looks so incredibly gorgeous right now; green eyes as pale as the sheets, lips red; a cupid’s bow spreading teasing little kisses along Louis’ inner thighs and all of the way back. He’d look almost angelic if it weren’t for what he’s doing right now-- and Louis almost feels bad for tainting him.  
“God.” He tries to laugh at Harry’s joke, but it only comes out as a breathy moan, lost in the static as Harry hollows out his cheeks and bounces his chin up and down, almost as if listening to a song that Louis hasn’t heard yet.  
Harry pushes himself all of the way along Louis’ dick and he’s left breathless. The pleasure spikes up his lower stomach like lightening strikes, making his chest feel warm and his heart feel alive. It’s a feeling like this that Louis could just get lost in, the kind of feeling he wished they sold in bottles, the feeling he wished would last forever. He’ll never grow tired of it.  
“Curly, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He announces, looking down at his crotch almost proudly.  
“Enjoy it, then.” Harry says, beaming, just before licking a long stripe from the base to the tip of his dick.  
It’s absolutely obscene.  
“Fuck. This feels so good I might scream.”  
“Then do it. What’s stopping you?” Harry says, cheekily, knowing exactly what he’s doing.  
“I don’t want to come too soon.” Louis whines. “I want to fuck you properly.”  
“But what if I want you to come on my face?” Harry says, innocently, working him with his hands, acting like between Louis’ legs is the most natural place to be in the world.  
Louis groans.  
“What if I want to mess with your curls and suck marks on your neck instead?” He retorts, looking Harry dead in the eye.  
Harry lets out a soft whimper, instantly getting up.“Yeah, yeah, that. Let’s do that.”  
It’s not soon before Harry is lying down on top of Louis, his hair being tugged to the side as Louis dives on his neck tongue first. He starts off with licking longue stripes up and down, sucking and nibbling, Harry’s hands taught on the duvet beside them. Their erections end up aligned amongst the chaos, and for a while, they just dryly rock each other, eyes fluttering shut, soft moans escaping them both. And yeah, it’s hot.  
In fact, it’s so hot that Harry comes in minutes, banging his fist on the mattress and feeling his neck flare red. For a few seconds, his breathing is extremely taut, hot and close against Louis’ jaw, and the rest of the world is forced into a slick blur.  
But Louis isn’t there yet. He’s still rocking, still needy, ghosting his lips across Harry’s neck as Harry comes down from his high, feeling the steady beat of his heart through his chest and the clench of his fists of his duvet. He’s hit by a whoosh of cold air as Harry begins to sink down past his crotch again, hands drifting down his legs, hips jarring up at the contact.  
“I guess we both get our wishes, then.”  
Harry takes Louis in his mouth and lets his eyes fall shut, his head ebbing and flowing with an invisible tempo, his hands squarely on either side of Louis’ hips. Louis is panting as Harry stops, his hand toying with Louis’ shaft, the other playing with his balls.  
“Come on, then. I was promised a facial.” Harry smirks, cheeks flushed, eyes looking so bright between Louis’ legs.  
The sight alone is enough for Louis to come all over Harry’s cheeks and hair. And as he does so, Harry parts his lips, closing his eyes, getting a taste of it when he comes…  
And shit.  
It’s filthy.

**  
They shower in silence, both extremely pliant and fucked out, the water causing their fringes to stick to their foreheads and their eyes to squint. Louis mocks the way Harry looks every now and then, small giggles being had under the shower head, but it never lasts too long, as Louis continually finds himself in Harry’s arms, squishing his face up against his collarbones, waggling his chin on his shoulder, attention loving and sweet as always.  
Harry knows that he probably shouldn’t give in to Louis like this all of the time, let him get away with all of his various jests tribulations and mockery of his fringe (which, looks rather good compared to Louis’ underneath the water), but, fuck. The way he looks under the water spray, his skin so pale and illuminated, and his eyes literally like sunshine… Harry simply can’t find it in him to refuse.  
Sleepy footsteps soon lead them to the bed, cold breakfast long forgotten on the nightstand, eyelashes lazily fluttering and breaths slow and sweet. They’re laid in nothing but towels, the sun a lot lower in the sky than it was when they woke up, casting blissful tendrils of light across the bed and, more importantly, making Louis’ eyes brighter than ever.  
He’s cuddled up against Harry’s arm when he says, sleepily--- “What do you have to do today?”  
“Umm, I have something to do that should take me an hour or two and then I’m all yours.”  
“Okay.” Louis chuckles, soft against Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll be waiting right here. I’m not even getting out of bed.”

**

“What do you mean you’re breaking up with me?” Emmet asks, puzzled.  
“I’m sorry, I just… This is not working for me.” Harry tugs at his sleeve.  
Emmet is searching Harry’s face, almost suspicious in his expression, brows low and lips slightly parted. Harry feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny, unsure of what to do or say.  
“You asked for slow, I gave you slow.”  
“It’s not you... it’s me.” Harry says, almost cringing at how generic it sounds.  
“Clearly.” Emmet looks defiant right now, puffed chest and all beneath his frown. He’s kitted out in gym wear that makes him seem literally enormous.  
Bordering on intimidating.  
“Is it Louis?”  
Harry looks at the floor, unsure of how to pursue. “I’m sorry, I just--”  
“Fuck, it is Louis!” Emmet groans, casting a perfect, sloppy blonde fringe out of his eyes. “Man, what do you see in him, he’s a twat!”  
“I don’t expect you to understand. Louis is not what most people think of him.”  
“You’re whipped.”  
“I’m in love, there’s a difference.” Harry is annoyed now, frustration licking at the base of his stomach, making his own frown turn and his thumbs tuck into his pockets.  
“Louis is so far down in the closet you’ll never be happy with him.” Emmet laughs.  
Cruelly.  
“Well, that’s for me to find out.” Harry tugs at his own sleeve. “I’m sorry Emmet. Really, I am.”  
“You never gave us a real chance. You’ll regret it someday.” Emmet turns and leaves, shoulders literally swinging from side to side. “Don’t come knocking on my door then.”

**

So Harry doesn’t tell Louis that he broke up with Emmet.  
He feels confident that Louis and him are finally on the right track. There’s something in Louis’ eyes that tells him everything is going to be alright. There’s a new softness in his movements, a sense of home he’s never felt with him before.  
A sense of belonging.  
Still, he chooses to not tell him.  
The reason is quite simple, really. The Tommo in his natural habitat is a very spooky creature who gets scared away very easily. And if scared, the Tommo can bite (and not in the sexy kind of way), and Harry has learned this the hard way.  
One must pet the Tommo, so to speak, and ease him into a trusting attitude.  
Harry can do that. He’s waited this long, he can wait a little longer, can’t he?  
So what if Louis didn’t break up with Eleanor?  
Harry can play it cool.  
He can.  
He can and he will, yes sir-ee.  
He will let Louis take the lead this time. Hell, he might even enjoy the ride. They’ll get to know each other all over again.  
Maybe keeping it on the downlow is just what they need.  
Plus, sneaking around is hot, okay? In fact, the first two weeks of their reconnecting is just a blur of hot sex, giggles in hallways and “kindadates”.  
It’s enough for now.  
Or maybe, Harry is just high on love and being kept in a sexhaze is keeping him from thinking properly. Either or. But, regardless of what’s going on, Harry is as happy as anything to start the Where We Are Tour. They’re up and set to tour Europe for a month, all the way to New Year’s Eve, and it’s going to be great.  
He suspects it’s going to be great, anyway.  
And his suspicions are soon proved right on the way to the airport, clad in sleepy feelings and tired eyes, the sun only just shifting above the clouds and the air crisp. They’re journeying to Vienna first, and despite the early flight time and the unbelievably nippy weather Harry is feeling good.  
Excited. Blissful. Vaguely ecstatic as Louis grabs his hand on the way, warmth spreading from palm to palm, peppering butterflies all over Harry’s stomach and making his brain whirr.  
“Here we are, on the road again, Haz.” Louis says. He looks so happy right now, cuddled up in various jackets, eyes brighter than ever, a small puff of cold air escaping his lips.  
“It’s gunna be great.”  
Then Louis leans in and whispers in Harry’s ear:-- “Wanna become a member of the mile high club?”

**

Vienna is absolutely fabulous. They get to play their new album and it’s invigorating being back on stage, especially because Louis and him are closer than ever. And maybe, just maybe, Harry looks at Louis while he sings ‘Happily’ and ‘Something Great’. It doesn’t take a genius to know the songs are about them, after all.  
And when Louis sings ‘Strong’ for the first time, man…  
Harry thinks he could burst.  
There’s lights and rainbows everywhere, enveloping the area around the main stage like a great big hug, making Harry feel chills ripple through his body like shocks and a mixture of pride and apprehension to bubble at the fact that Louis stays majorly unaffected through it all.  
It could be worse, Harry supposes.  
But regardless, he makes it his mission to sign a ‘It’s okay if HE makes you strong’ sign and wink at the fan holding it.  
He will do that every show until the end of the tour. It soothes his soul.

**

That night, Harry smiles dopily at Louis when he joins him in his hotel room, bag shouldered and all.  
Like this is the most natural thing in the world.  
Like it always been like this. (It hasn’t).  
And like a lot of things, they don’t discuss it.  
It is what it is.

**

“Lou.” Harry gently pushes at Louis’ arm.  
“Mmmmhh.”  
“Louuuu, wake up.”  
“Don’t wanna.” Louis curls himself further into the pillow, grumpy.  
“If you want to keep this on the DL, you’re going to have to go back to your room at some point.”  
Harry says this hoping that Louis will choose to stay. But at the same time, it’s so early in the ‘relationship’ that he’s not ready for people to know yet, either.  
Especially since Louis is still with his girlfriend.  
“Time is it?” Louis mumbles, eyes still closed.  
“5:45.”  
“You cruel sadistic bastard.” Louis whines, burying his face.  
“I’ll make it up to you.” Harry grips his arm. “Let’s do something fun in Belgium.”  
“Is there any fun to be had in Belgium, even?” Louis asks, slowly sitting up.  
“Yeah!”  
“What do you have in mind? Because I’m not up for mountain climbing.” Louis says.  
“Lou. It’s called the flat country for a reason.”  
“Well, we could eat chips and waffles and chocolate and drink good beer?” Louis squints, hopeful, hair squashed over to one side and his eyes barely open.  
Harry grins. “That plan I can get behind.”

**

After the show in Belgium, they stay behind, choosing to go sightseeing the next day in Bruges. The little Venice there is absolutely breathtaking; triangular, traditional houses lining each and every corner, mirrored in the water, street signs and streetlamps decorated with flags of every colour and the chiselled roofs of each house sprinkled with the future promise of frost. It’s almost something out of a fairytale; the streets lit up at every moment, the sky bright and glistening over the treetops, the water eerily calm as boats idle up and down it.  
And yeah. It’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.  
“I was promised waffles. You lied, Curly.” Louis sends Harry a disapproving look.  
“And I was promised car sex. But yet here we are.”  
“Sorry, I really wanted to try that motorcycle.” Louis smiles cheekily.  
“And I really wanted to go on a boat ride. So, get on board with the plan.”  
“Your puns are getting worse and worse Haz. Really, I’m worried.”  
“Shut up and sit.”  
Louis pouts a little as they follow the small queue to the tour boats, each and every step mirrored in the water. It’s weird, almost as if the entire road has been rained and rained and rained upon.  
Harry nudges him from his thoughts as the instructor, awash neatly in a neon lifejacket, helps tug them in.  
“We can have waffles after.” He promises.  
Louis smiles at that. And soon, they’re sat at the back of the tour boat, knees touching as the guy at the front paddles viciously and tries to recite as many facts about the area as he can. Louis would think the thing a little dry where entertainment is concerned, but he can’t be entirely bored with it, because Harry is so excited about the place that it’s contagious.  
“LOOK AT THAT BUILDING, LOU!” He exclaims, pointing towards something that Louis can’t even see. “You know, I wanted to be a merman when I was a kid.”  
And Louis can’t help but smile and look at him fondly.  
(Dork.)  
They do have waffles after.  
If there was chocolate sauce left and Louis poured the entire thing on Harry later, very intent on licking him clean, nobody has to know.

**

In Cardiff, things are… different.  
Eleanor is here, for one.  
Gemma is, too. And Harry has decided to not tell her about him and Louis.  
She wouldn’t understand. How could she?  
She would merely lecture him, and Harry is not up for that. In the back of his mind he knows what she would tell him and he really can’t blame her, so he doesn’t want to spoil Gemma’s vacation with petty arguments. Or maybe because he knows she would be right. But Harry doesn’t want to hear it.  
So things are tense, to say the least.  
Louis is carefully avoiding them, spending a lot of time with El. Though Harry can’t help but notice that Louis is in a bad mood, constantly short with her, sticking out his bottom lip more often than not. But, regardless of how well they’re getting on, Harry has been ignoring them for the most part. It’s one thing to know that the boy he loves is in a relationship with someone else, it’s another to have a front seat to it for three days straight.  
He doesn’t really know what to think about it.  
The only thing he knows is that he misses his boy. But there’s no way in hell he’s going to stoop so low as to tell him while his girlfriend is spattered on his arm more often than not.  
And so, it’s with gloomy thoughts that Harry walks towards his dressing room before the show, head down, movements slow. He’s trapped in a little bubble of misery for approximately two seconds before an arm grabs him out of nowhere and tugs him into a broom closet nearby.  
He’s having deja vu of his first meeting with Louis. It feels like a whole world away.  
(And the arm belongs to Louis, of course.)  
Harry has no time to process this information, though, because Louis is all over him--- kissing him needily, fisting his shirt, and letting out whimpery moans.  
In between kisses, Louis murmurs, eyes shut-- “I hate it when you ignore me.”  
Harry can’t really respond because his mouth is full with Louis’ tongue.  
“God I want you so much.” Louis adds, once they’re parted, grabbing Harry’s hair, licking and kissing at his neck.  
Harry groans.  
“Let’s get away this weekend, just you and me.” Louis says, buried in the crook of Harry’s neck and crowding him against the wall.  
“Mmhmmm. Y...Yeah…”  
“Anywhere you want. We’ll do anything you want.”  
“Okay.”

**

In Spain, after the show, they decide to go on a spa weekend. They were supposed to sneak out, all dark clothing and giggly back door exits, but there wasn’t enough cause to in the end. Niall has been wrapped up and giggly for the most of the time they’ve spent in Spain, phone tightly pressed to his ear, and Liam and Zayn have been literally wrapped up in each other, incapable of staying away from one another, let alone notice Harry and Louis’ absence.  
And so it happens. They check into the spa resort earlier than needed, and as soon as they put their luggage down on cream-carpeted floors and put the door key on the nightstand, Louis dives into the bed..  
“Mmm, comfy. You should definitely try it, Curly.”  
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”  
“Uhum.”  
And so what if they get reported to reception by neighbours disturbed by the sound of the headboard hitting the wall all night? Who cares? Harry certainly doesn’t.  
It was one of the best orgasms of his life.

 

**

This weekend turns out to be exactly what Harry need. Massages, healthy food, hot tubs, lazy afternoons by the pool and, more importantly, Louis.  
LouisLouisLouis.  
He has him all to himself, day in, day out. His undivided attention, his attentive tendencies, everything.  
Harry could really get used to it.  
They’re in the sauna of the resort right now, surrounded by clouds of steam, fringes stuck to foreheads and droplets of water trickling down shoulders and calves. Louis has been insatiable from the moment they set foot in the resort, so it’s really no wonder that he’s sending Harry a lusty look right now, almost like he wants to devour him, eyelids low, lips barely parted.  
The only problem is that the sauna is jam-packed right now, so much that they didn’t get a chance to sit beside each other upon arriving. But they’re seated opposite one another now, surrounded by a close throng of people clad in towels, and literally can’t stop looking at each other. Harry feels like his heart’s on fire as Louis looks him up and down for the second time in minutes, eyes intent, looking incredibly sinful with that towel so low on his hips and his tattoos on display.  
God.  
It’s not long before people begin to leave, one by one, letting fresh air whoosh in at their departure. Everytime someone goes, Louis shuffles up, edging closer to Harry’s seat. Harry simply smiles sheepishly at this and Louis’ intent looks, his stomach jelly, his mouth drying as Louis rubs his thighs and wiggles his eyebrows at him.  
More and more people depart. Harry’s heart is thumping hard in his chest, making his throat throb as he tries to look away from Louis, tries to look innocent, tries to adjust his towel in any way possible that doesn’t make his predicament obvious. Louis bites his lip as the last group of people begin to retreat out of the door, cold air causing goosebumps to cut underneath his sweat, eyes standing out as a brighter blue as he stares at Harry.  
At this point, it’s just plain obvious.  
The last person leaves and almost like lightening, Louis is rushing to Harry, putting hands on his neck and drawing moans out of him. They continue like this, Louis straddled on Harry’s lap, before Louis breaks the kiss just long enough to lock the door from the inside.  
Harry bites his lip as Louis joins him again. “You looked sinful with all these people surrounding you. I was tenting my towel. I hope you’re proud.”  
Louis chuckles, running a warm hand through Harry’s damp hair. “Fuck the towels then.”  
Harry makes quick work at throwing their towels down onto the floor, and then, without even knowing, they’re grinding, Harry’s back against the wooden panels lining the room, Louis’ hands on his upper arms. Louis slips his tongue into Harry’s mouth and for a few moments, everything becomes a blur. He’s incapable of forming coherent thought or speech as Louis breaks away, dipping his head down to bite and lick at Harry’s chest.  
“My god, your body. It’s addictive.” Louis mumbles, against Harry’s skin.  
“Uhuu?” Harry is pretty much gone already, his pec muscles twitching at the attention.  
Louis pulls at Harry’s shoulders, turning him so that his chest is pressed against the wall, and begins to press deep kisses down the crook of his back and down to his waist. Harry tilts his chin up, very much enjoying the attention, and feeling fireworks spur in his chest everytime Louis brushes his fingertips over his back muscles.  
“Do you want to know what my favorite spot is?” Louis whispers, against the skin of Harry’s waist.  
“Mmmm.” Harry slurs, chin flat against the wall.  
Louis gets on his knees and sinks lower, parting Harry’s cheeks with soft, damp hands, and breathing, quite purposefully, onto the space there.  
“Fuck.” Harry says, heart pounding in anticipation.  
“Here.” Louis whispers, right on his hole.  
And then, he’s sticking his tongue out, marking a cold, intense circle around it, tightening his grip on either side of Harry’s in time with his breathy moans. Soon enough, Harry has fully stuck his bum out, his fingers grasping on the wall for support, his legs trembling as Louis continues to work quick circles around his hole, and then, eventually, sticks his tongue deep inside.  
“Shit.” Harry manages to mumble, cheek flushed, as Louis pulls away, glancing up to gauge Harry’s reaction.  
“So pretty.” Louis grins, still holding onto either side of Harry’s ass.  
Harry lets out a murmur of a sigh at that, chest pulsing, lips parting as Louis stands once more, pressing Harry up against the wall again, his chin down as he applies hungry kisses along Harry’s neck and shoulders.  
“Bend over. I want to take you apart.”

**

The sauna may be Louis’ kink, but the dark room…  
The dark room is definitely Harry’s.  
He can barely see anything at all in there, brief silhouettes of others mapped out only by the faint neon lights splaying in the corner, making the room dark and the air warm. It’s a room designed for relaxation, with long, comfy loungers spread out over the area, and the lazy rotation of a fan from above the only sound. It’s blissful.  
They’re laid beside each other. Harry can just make out a little bit of Louis’ jaw and his eyelashes in this light, barely fluttering in the tranquility. His hair is whisked with violet, and his cheekbones...God.  
Harry could eat him up.  
He gets up from his own chair and lies beside Louis on his own. It barely fits them both, legs wobbling on the sides, but Louis shuffles to make room. His eyes are still shut.  
Harry then begins to part Louis’ bathrobe, fingers skirting over tanned skin, and massage Louis’ thigh, ever-so-softly. His movements eventually drift upwards, lazy moments bringing up to Louis’ hips, fingertips so so soft underneath the lack of light.  
Louis tilts his head, whispers in Harry’s ear.“What are you doing, Curly?”  
“Nothing.” Harry responds, feigning nonchalance.  
“Shhhhh.” A voice scolds, from God knows where.  
Harry chuckles, and Louis has to put his hand over Harry’s mouth to muffle his laugh.  
Still, Harry doesn’t stop his inner thigh massage, digging his finger in the soft flesh dangerously close to Louis’ groin. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, judging by the giant boner he’s sporting.  
Not that Harry can see it. He just knows.  
“We shouldn't be doing this here, we’re loud people.” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear, clearly affected.  
“You want me to stop?”  
“Hell no.” Louis lays right back.  
Harry slowly begins to slide his fingers down, down past Louis’ hips, and back up around the curve of his thigh. He repeats this a couple of times until Louis readjusts his bathrobe, taking in a shaky breath through his teeth, cocking his head back. Harry can’t help but grin at his reaction, moving his hands down further, ghosting cold fingertips past Louis’ length.  
Louis shudders and holds his breath. Harry tries to stop himself from grinning as he lazily works a fist up and down Louis’ cock, barely making contact, his rings trickling up and down the skin, Louis beginning to gently rock his hips up at the touch.  
He whines, and Harry bites his lip. Harry brushes a fingertip over Louis’ head, and Louis’ chest jarrs up, his lips parted wide. Harry then ghosts his closed fist over his length, extending his little finger down over the veins, back up to the tip, and down again.  
“Harry.” Louis says, through his teeth.  
Harry chuckles and wraps his fingertips fully around Louis’ cock, slowly finishing his tease, moving his wrist in a circular rotation as Louis begins to let out short sighs. Louis is soon moving his head back, hanging it over the back of the chair, letting his hair tip over the back of his neck as Harry picks up the pace, pumping up and down, pausing now and then to feel Louis’ hand close tight around his wrist.  
“God.” Louis mumbles, before burying his face in Harry’s neck.  
Harry does five rotations around Louis’ tip with his fingers before pausing, five before pausing, five before pausing. It does wonders to Louis and causes his feet to curl, his mouth to readily blurt out hushed expletives and his chest to rise and fall. The sight is beautiful, really, and whenever Harry suspects that Louis is close to coming, he pauses, letting the blush die down from Louis’ neck and his breathing to regulate, before starting all over again.  
It’s a wonder that nobody else notices the chair squeaking as Louis writhes, desperate to reach his high, letting out miniscule whimpers and tugging on Harry’s bathrobe whenever Harry eases his movements to a stop. It’s almost funny, in fact.  
When Louis comes, he has to bite Harry’s shoulder to muffle the sound he makes.  
It’s as beautiful as he is.  
Harry licks his hand clean as Louis watches, awestricken, chest rising and falling like an erratic tide, eyes wide and bright in the dark. It’s not soon before they’re conversing in deep kisses, tongue first, hands roaming over taught shoulders and jawlines, and Harry is certain that he’s going to fall off.  
“Let’s get out of here.” Harry eventually breaks away, panting rapidly. “You can do me in the hot tub.”  
Louis is dizzy and disoriented, happily letting Harry guide him up and out of the dark.

 

**

After Helsinki, they have another few days off.  
“Where are we going now?” Harry asks, after the concert is over, and they’re heading back to the changing rooms. Walking around with Louis has just become a natural thing for Harry now, like next to Louis is all he’s ever wanted to be.  
All he should be.  
Louis looks at the ground. “Ummm. I don’t know about you but I gotta go home.”  
“To Doncaster?” Harry raises his eyebrows.  
“Yeah. My mum is huge, apparently. Wants me to visit before Christmas because I won’t be home for the holidays this year. With the tour and all.”  
“Can I go with you?”  
It’s a spur of the moment kind of question, one he really didn’t think through before voicing. He’s really looking forward to spending time with Louis alone again.  
“Ummm...” Louis pauses.  
“Wait. Is she going to be there?”  
“El? No. No no no no.” Louis shakes his head vehemently.  
Harry hides his relief. “Soooo?”  
“Aren’t you going to see Emmet?”  
“What? No. We had a falling out. I’m not seeing him anymore.”  
“Oh.” Louis looks surprised.  
“Yeah. Who cares. So?”  
“Yeah, yeah. You can come, if you want.” Louis answers, scratching his neck.  
“Unless you don’t want me there?”  
“Don’t be silly. My family loves you. The girls will be thrilled to see you.”

**

In Donny, things are weird. Harry really should have expected it. Louis was distant in the car there, itching at his wrists and such, not really playing along to Harry’s jokes, and when they got there, it got even worse.  
Harry could literally bang his head on the wall. He never should have ignored Louis’ signs of discomfort when he asked to tag along, should’ve seen this all coming.  
Fuck.  
They’re happy to see Harry, it’s not that.  
It’s not that Louis is ignoring him, per say, either. But he’s being very guarded in Harry’s presence with his mother and Mark especially. He is stiff, to say the least. Even his voice is different. Harry finds it hurtful and irritating, frankly, especially when mere days before, things with Louis were so different. Restrained smiles used to be careless grins. Restricted speech used to be dirty secrets and loud inside jokes. Taut lips used to be a free smile and a light heart.  
But now…  
They’re in the kitchen. Louis is playing with his sisters, turning them around and making faces, ignoring Harry’s general presence.  
(Of course.)  
Harry is sipping tea beside Jay, watching him fondly. He knows, deep in his stomach, that Louis will make a wonderful father someday, and it makes a smile creep onto his face without him knowing. It might be what causes Jay to cast an indecipherable look at him, standing rather territorially behind her huge belly and cup of tea, but Harry can’t tell.  
It makes him uncomfortable.  
“Jay, it’s been lovely, but I better get to finding a hotel if I don’t want to sleep in the car.” He announces, sitting up, placing his cup of tea on the table.  
Louis’ head turns up in seconds, previous movements forgotten.  
“What?” Louis asks, his mouth falling.  
“Nonsense, love.” Jay bats her hands at Harry. “You’re sleeping in Boo’s room tonight.”  
“No, really, I can’t--”  
Jay looks at him. “I made your bed already.”  
“My finest Spiderman sheets, Haz.” Louis tries to play it cool, but he looks puzzled.  
“Yeah, okay, if it’s no bother.” Harry says looking at Louis, trying to understand what is going through that head.  
“Boo, you’re taking the couch.” Jay says.

**

It’s 2 a.m. when Harry gives up on sleep. It’s too hard to sleep in Louis room, surrounded by all things adolescent Louis, basked in crumpled old sheets, watching the time tick by on a rocketship alarm clock. It’s so so teenagery that Harry could literally scream-- piles of popped footballs stacked awkwardly upon a dressing room table, empty deodorant cans long neglected in corners, vinyl records and camera phones still resting upon the bedside table. It’s almost as if the eighteen-year-old Louis never left, which makes Harry sad, because the truth is extremely the opposite.  
Eighteen-year-old Louis left this world behind.  
Harry turns over, frustrated with himself, scrunching the covers to his chest with a cold fist. To the left of the bed, right on the wall, there’s a lopsided collection of footballer posters-- the largest one, of course, David Beckham, practically shirtless, holding a football in the air and smirking lazily at Harry through the dark. It instantly unnerves Harry, of course, because having anyone staring at you in that way at these hours is disturbing--- let alone David Beckham.  
He clutches the duvet and prepares himself to turn back over again. But somehow, David’s eyes are locked on him, and he can’t look away.  
What are you doing here, Harry? The poster says. Louis doesn’t want you here.  
Harry scrunches his eyes.  
You don’t belong here.  
He turns over, so that his back is facing the wall. But he can still hear David’s voice in his head, feel his eyes staring at Harry’s lopsided mop of curls.  
This is Louis’ place. Louis’ home. And you’re intruding.  
Harry squishes his eyes shut. It, of course, doesn’t help.  
Intruder intruder intruder intruder intruder intruder  
Fuck this.  
He gets up from bed, rubbing his eyes, and begins to walk until the voices in his head shut up. Part of him legitimately fears he’s going insane at this point, but the rest of it, the more dominant side, is telling him to shut the fuck up and make a cup of tea. He’s on his tiptoes as he egresses from the bedroom and down past the living room, careful not to wake anyone up.  
Louis is in there, splayed over the sofa, having fallen asleep with the television on. He looks extremely peaceful in the glow of the tv, his shadow casting wonders on the ceiling. Harry watches him for a moment, breath caught in his throat, before taking a blanket from the tabletop and moving noiselessly into the kitchen.  
Cup of tea in his hands, he sits beside the window in the kitchen, and gets lost in thought. It’s completely dark outside, but the sky is dotted with the first hints of morning through the blinds, the ground slick with the afternoon’s rain. He watches the grass of their back garden waver from side to side in the wind for a while, knees tucked up to his chest, and, for a while, is completely calm.  
He’s startled, however, by the sound of feet against the kitchen floor.  
For a second he thinks it’s Louis, but it’s Jay.  
He smiles at her. “Can’t sleep either?”  
“Nah.” She rubs her stomach. “These babies keep waking me up in the middle of the night to rumba.”  
Harry simply smiles at that, before taking a long sip of his tea and staring back out of the window. The rain has started again.  
Jay leans onto the counter. “Something wrong?”  
“No. Just a lot of my mind.”  
“Ow.” Jay winces and rubs her belly. “Rumba is over. Now they’re bickering.”  
Harry smiles, mesmerized, biting his lip.  
“Do you want to feel?”  
She doesn’t wait for his answer, however, grabbing his hand and placing it on her belly. He feels it instantly. A kick. He immediately has the instinct to remove his hand, feeling like an intruder at best, but Jay keeps it there.  
“Wow. It’s amazing.” Harry murmurs.  
“Yeah.” Jay nods and smiles, allowing him to remove his hand. “You never get used to it. But it started out with a bang, so really these two are like a walk in the park.”  
Harry gives her a questioning look.  
“When I was pregnant with Louis, believe it or not, that baby was restless.”  
Harry huffs. “Oh, I believe it.”  
“He kicked and kicked all night long.” Jay rubs her belly. “Almost like he was trying to tell me something. ‘Hey, I’m here. Don’t forget about me’.”  
“Like anyone could forget about him.”  
“Right?”  
“Things were already bad with his father. For a long time I wondered if he could sense it. That his father didn’t want him.”  
Harry furrows his brows.  
“When he was a baby, he was so sweet and gentle, always wanting to be held. I couldn’t help but overprotect him a little when his father left. Even if it was a blessing in disguise.”  
“It all turned out well I suppose.” Harry says, not really knowing where Jay is going with this.  
“What I’m trying to say, is, when your father leaves you at age one or twenty for that matter, it leaves scars. Scars that don’t heal completely, no matter how loving your step father is. No matter how many friends you have. No matter how successful you are. No matter how worshipped you are by your fans. You always feel like there’s something wrong with you.”  
Harry looks at the floor.  
Jay rubs her belly once more. “And you always look for the validation of people around you.”  
Harry nods.  
“I see the way you look at him.”  
Harry almost lets his cup fall on the floor.  
“He’s a very impressionable boy. He may not look like it, but he is.”  
There’s a hole in Harry’s stomach, suddenly he feels like his chest is constricting, and his head is caving in.  
“I like you, Harry.” Jay says. “I really do. But Louis, he’s not like you.”  
“Like me?” Harry gulps.  
“Your life choices are not his. And Louis, well... He’s not very good at knowing what’s suits him or not. He’ll try anything if it means people will like him. And it’s my job as his mother to make sure he makes good choices for himself, not for others. To make sure he’s protected and cared for.”  
“I care.” Harry’s voice breaks, his throat tight.  
Unbelievably steadfast.  
“Oh I know you do, sweetie. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, I hope you know that.” Jay’s eyes are gentle but her smile is sad.  
Harry’s lower lip is trembling by now, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes.  
“I don’t want you to think that I’m judging you. Because I’m not. You’re a fine young man and I hope one day you’ll find the guy for you, I really do.”  
Harry stares at the window pane. The rain is still thrashing down, causing puddles to to expand over the concrete, making the windows sway and the clouds dark.  
Jay looks up at him. “It’s just not my Louis.”  
Tears fall from Harry’s eyes without him being able to stop them, his bottom lip wavering almost as a motion of habit. Jay puts a motherly hand on his cheeks to swipe them away, a small smile on her lips. But it doesn’t help at all. He feels so pathetic under her stare, so small, like nothing in the world he could do would appease her.  
God.  
“I care for you both. I just don’t want you to get your heart broken. And I don’t want him to get… confused.” She pats his cheek and gets up.  
When she’s in the doorframe, Harry lifts his head up. “Being gay… it’s not a choice, Jay.”  
“Get some sleep, Harry.” She smiles gently.

**

It’s around 4 a.m.  
Harry is trying very hard to muffle the sound of his crying in the pillow, Spiderman’s face crumpled and distorted beneath his cheek, chest rocking up and down in despair. The morning light is only just beginning to cut through the darkness, casting shadows of trees and birds making their way along the skyline across the carpet, occasionally making the area around Harry’s head dark. The storm has long since broken, but Harry feels like in so many ways that it hasn’t. The conversation before is rocking around in his head, making his chest feel cold, and his thoughts blurred.  
The door creaks open in the darkness.  
Harry is startled at once, hurriedly wiping his cheeks in the pillow, his heart stomping like mad in his chest.  
Louis gets under the covers with him and put his arm around Harry’s waist.  
“Are you awake?” Louis murmurs.  
Harry doesn’t answer.  
“Why is the pillow wet? Haz, have you been crying?”  
At that Harry just curls up in a ball at Louis’ side and resumes crying. For a second, Harry thinks that Louis overheard his conversation with Jay.  
But he’s soon proved wrong.  
Louis nuzzles his nose into Harry’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been a twat all day.”  
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come.”  
“We’re going home tomorrow first thing.” Louis holds him tight until he falls asleep.  
In the morning, he’s awaken by the sounds of children playing downstairs, loud shouts cutting through his rest, making him sit up in the sheets and feel his heart pound.  
Unsurprisingly, he’s very much alone.

**

The way home is gloomy at best. Louis keeps glancing at him, giving him unsure and pained looks. Harry contemplates telling him about his conversation with Jay. But he doesn’t have the heart to tell him. What would he even say?  
Plus, Louis would either excuse her words, claim that he misunderstood or worse---  
Tell him that she’s right.  
So it goes straight into the vault of all the things unsaid with Louis.  
(A very , very big vault.)

**

By Oslo, Harry is out of his funk. Louis has been very intent on making him smile since Donny--- going out of his way to do so, even. Some might even think he planned on to wooing him. For one, he’s never left Harry’s side, and he’s never missed an opportunity to touch him either. He’s soft and nice and gentlemanlike.  
So things are good in Oslo.  
Really, really good.  
They’re in Harry’s dressing room right now, chilling before the show amidst the level of organized chaos that so often accompanies Harry’s presence; shoes neatly placed in a line, blankets and clothing folded almost with right angular-precision, deodorant and cologne bottles lined up upon the windowsill. Outside, it’s hailing-- huge bullets of transparency crashing down onto the city streets, causing people to fold out their umbrellas and to duck under bus stops. It’s kind of beautiful.  
“Hey.” Louis throws a sock at Harry from across the room. “I have a surprise for you. For my birthday.”  
“Me? For your own birthday?” Harry laughs.  
Because if that isn’t Louis in a nutshell, Harry doesn’t know what is.  
“Yeah. I can spoil you and myself at the same time. See, I’m clever like that.” Louis says, walking over and planting a kiss on Harry’s nose, who closes his eyes at the contact.  
“But will I like this surprise or is it more for you than for me?”  
“I’m appalled, Curly.” Louis says, faux shocked. “Christmas Eve. You bring yourself and you bake me that chocolate cake that I like and I’ll take care of the rest.”  
“Ooooh, the cake that you like, is that all?” Harry says in a breathy laugh.  
“Yeah!”  
“One must deserve the cake. My baked goods are not available on demand, you know.”  
“Well?” Louis raises his eyebrows. “That’s not what you said last night.”  
Harry simply shakes his head, laughing nonetheless.

**

“Don’t peek! Come on, Harold! You’ll ruin the surprise!”  
“Alright, alright.”  
Louis removes the blindfold over Harry’s eyes and puts it in his pocket. Harry stops walking, astonished by the sudden burst of light, wandering legs grinding to a halt as Louis ceases guiding him. He looks at Louis, half confused, half amazed.  
“Happy birthday to me!” Louis announces, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  
It’s a fair. A giant fair, open only for them, glinting bright in the dark and the cold, every plausible colour of the rainbow represented in front of them. There’s everything there-- from bumper cars to a Ferris wheel, to hook a duck and a candyfloss stall. And it’s lovely.  
It’s really, really fucking lovely.  
Harry smiles big, bigger than he ever thought he would, and looks at Louis.  
“So? Do you love it or do you love it?” Louis says, wiggling his eyebrows and weighing his hands.  
“I… love it. Thank you.”  
Louis smiles. He’s clad in a big burgundy jumper with floppy, bloated sleeves and a denim jacket, ripped skinny jeans on his lower half despite the freezing temperature.  
“Only the best for my favourite person in the entire world.”  
Harry is stunned at that, but he doesn’t have time to think about Louis’ words, as Louis is already taking him by the hand and dragging him, quite literally, into the heart of the fair.  
“Come on! I want to go on the Ferris wheel!”

**  
On the Ferris wheel, they’re sat beside each other, all of the other carriages empty, Louis huddled right up to Harry in the cold. Their thighs are touching as the carriage makes a gradual ascent, Harry’s hands in his lap, Louis pointing at the various points of the city visible only in the dark, buzzing with identity, an entire world lit up under the stars.  
Harry rubs his hands, shuddering, regretting the lack of warm clothing in his current inventory and longing for nothing more than a scarf or some gloves to wrap his hands up into.  
“Are you cold?” Louis asks him, looking away from all of the lights below.  
“Yeah, it’s freezing, Lou.”  
“Here.”  
Louis takes Harry’s hands between his own blows on them for several minutes, trying to warm them up despite the plummeting temperature. For a moment, Harry just looks at him.  
Yep. No doubt. He’s in love.  
It’s not long before he’s slipping his hands from Louis’, taking Louis’ face in his hands, and kissing him, way up there, surrounded by all of those lights and stars and darkness above.  
He kisses him until his hands are warm from the contact of his face, until their cheeks are red and and breathless, until they’re both a little dizzy from each other, and not the ride. Until words become mere thoughts and caution is thrown to the wind.  
Until they feel like the world is theirs and the stars are reachable.  
The rest of the night, Harry’s hand is in Louis’ pocket with his own, despite the varying rides, and despite the fact that really, it’s warm enough for it not to be there anymore.  
They end up eating the chocolate cake in the hotel room, giggly sex on the crumbsy bed soon to follow.

**

Two days before Paris, the last show of the European leg, Harry gets a rose tattoo.  
It’s a metaphor for his blooming love story with Louis, he supposes. Things are good. In fact, Louis thinks it’s very sexy on his arm, forever teasing and picking at the ‘leaves’ with his fingertips, blowing raspberries on it until Harry’s incapable of laughing any harder.  
All is good. Except, the fans…  
As soon as they see a glimpse of the tattoo, Louis’ feed is full of people asking him when he’s getting the dagger. A world-fucking-wide trend appears in a matter of hours.  
“Lou, go get the dagger!”  
“You know what matches a rose tattoo right? A fucking dagger!”  
“Get the dagger! Get the dagger!”  
And Louis, for one, doesn’t know what to say.  
But Harry is over the moon. He even contemplates asking if Louis would consider getting the dagger himself, ecstatic on the fan’s reactions, gleeful and euphoric from the get go.  
Because things are perfect. Finally, things are perfect. Harry’s on cloud nine right now, very much in love and looking forward to the future, anything possible, nothing out of his reach.  
Louis doesn’t feel the same. As soon as he saw the first tweet about the rose, every alarm went off in his head, flaring, like big flashing signs telling him-- “TOO MUCH, TOO MUCH, ABORT!”  
Sometimes he wishes that everything was as easy as getting a tattoo.  
He really does.


	8. 1

Chapter 1

“Somewhere we went wrong  
Our love is like a song  
But you won't sing along”  
-Demi Lovato, Don't Forget

 

December 31st, 2013

 

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Harry has never felt so good in his damn life.  
Well, technically, he has, because every time Louis looks at him it feels like he’s being struck by lightning and wrapped in clouds all at once. It’s beautiful and messy, and it cracks his chest open and spills out Harry’s soul for the world to see-- but he feels like he’s never felt so good besides that. It takes a lot to replicate the feeling Harry gets when he’s near Louis, and for that, he gives the throwers of this party absolute credit.  
And man, is it a party.  
There’s pink streamers everywhere, decorating the vast, twirling ceilings of the hotel and stretching far beyond the open windows, rippling in the cold, breezy Paris wind. There’s a keg and drug stand around every corner, manned by jaded hotel staff with crippled rouge bow ties on and moustaches so elaborate that they can’t be real. The music is so loud and vibrant that it ripples through the room like a fucking Earthquake, and far beyond the open balcony windows, the Eiffel Tower stands, as eloquent, poised and regal as it’s ever been, lit up in all of the shades of champagne Harry’s consumed tonight and more.  
All five of the boys are here, but Harry wouldn’t put it past Zayn and Liam to have egressed from the hotel room hours ago, considering how meshed up in each other they were earlier. Harry wishes he almost hadn’t seen them, cuddled up behind the keg stand, tongues down each other’s throats and wandering hands clearly visible beneath the stand’s draping tablecloth. He wishes he hadn’t seen them partly because ew-- just ew--- and partly because that should be him.  
(Well, not technically him. Harry would never pass up a chance to kiss either of the two guys, and you’d be out of your mind to pass up a chance, but what he means is that it should be him and Louis standing there, making out in public behind a sleazy old juice keg. feeling at one with the world and at peace with each other….)  
Anyway. The party’s great, better than Harry had ever hoped. And Niall’s practically swimming in guests, making his way through French girls like aisles in a supermarket, spreading kisses and love like some sort of infection throughout the crowd. And Harry wouldn’t mind this-- sat slumped in the corner, downing what feels like his fortieth vodka shot in two minutes-- but he’s more than a little bit sure that some kind of identity rift is going on as Niall arrogantly shifts between girls.  
(He’s not bitter that Niall is getting some action and he isn’t, or anything. He’s definitely not bitter.)  
And, despite what the local girls of this hotel might think, Niall is definitely not called Hunter, either. He keeps walking around the party with his half-and-half-hair and stupidly-angled sunglasses, sending sly smirks to every walking vagina, claiming that his name is Hunter, and that Niall was always just a stage name, and it...irks Harry, a little bit. If there’s one thing he dislikes, it’s dishonesty.  
(Not that Niall is going to see these girls again in a million years, or anything. It’s just dishonest.)  
So he walks up to Niall after downing his shot, all fuzzy-headed and wide-grinned, and decides to decipher what exactly it is about Niall that’s making him get all of this attention.  
Starting, of course, with the nickname.  
“Sooo, Hunter?” Harry tests out, bringing a cup of vodka to grinning, beaming lips. “How are you on this fine night? Talked to enough people yet?”  
Niall lets out a laugh--- strong, hearty, and extremely Irish. “Not near enough, Harry. In fact, I think I need to up my game before the night is over, if I’m going to at least reach at least half of what my reputation brags, you know?”  
“Reputation my ass.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Your reputation--” He raises his fingers, grinning despite his mockery of a jaded attitude, “Is either a mess of 80’s action film heroes or the lead of a really bad sitcom. And I have no idea how chicks dig it.”  
Niall laughs once more.  
Harry sighs. “So. What gives? Who’s Hunter? You already bored with the rock star status? Or just in need of some adventure?”  
Niall shakes his head. “Haha, nah, not really. Although it’s fun being someone else for a night. You should give it a try sometime.”  
Harry shakes his head, smiling widely.  
Niall tilts his chin up. “You know, being someone other than Lou’s lovesick puppy.”  
Touché. Harry glances towards Louis almost as a motion of habit. He’s currently across the other side of the room, all poised and perfect, aimlessly chatting with a friend like he has not a care in the world. And yeah, maybe Harry is lovesick, but who wouldn’t be, when Louis looks the way he does?  
He’s a mess of unruly brown locks carved haphazardly into a quiff, striking blue eyes, and tanned skin at the moment, and Harry can’t even pinpoint what it does to him inside, because he’s pretty sure his feelings are a mess everytime he gets a flash of those eyes, a glimpse of that hair, a view of that jaw-- and oh God-- it’s even worse when Louis smiles. Because when Louis smiles, Harry feels like his entire stomach is being lifted to another planet.  
When Louis smiles, it’s like the world becomes bright.  
But it’s not as if Louis isn’t lovesick too. And Harry knows this for many, uncountable reasons, but the one standing out from the rest is the fact that Louis has been undoubtedly incapable of letting Harry out of his sight for five minutes. It’s very subtle, and Harry is sure that if anyone else were too look they’d pinpoint it as coincidence, but he swears that every time he turns around, Louis is looking. And every time Harry moves, Louis moves too.  
It’s constant, neverending, like Louis is always gravitating around him.  
He realizes Niall is still looking at him, almost expectantly, and he makes a noncommittal sound to mask his embarrassment with boredom, itching at his jaw with a black shirt sleeve.  
Thankfully, Niall lets him off the hook, and changes the subject. “Anyway, about the Hunter thing. Basically, the fans have been doing this funny fucking thing recently because apparently, I don’t make enough headlines. I’m in need of a little scandal. So they invented a whole parallel life for me. Like, my real name is Hunter or sommat, I live a dangerous and scandalous life, and my cover name is Niall…..It’s hilarious.”  
Harry laughs, because, yeah, he guesses it is pretty fucking hilarious.  
(If only the fans knew that Niall had taken a part in an affair with Susan Boyle back in the day.)  
Niall grabs two drinks from a waitress's tray, grinning wildly.  
He raises his cup in the air. “To Hunter!”  
Harry grins. “That bastard!"  
By eleven fifty-five, Niall and Harry are quite drunk, nearly at the stage of drunk where walking patterns become a foggy blur, and all logical speech is thrown to the wind. But it’s okay, because Harry reckons that they have a lot to celebrate.  
For starters, the first leg of the tour was amazing. On stage, they were on fire, and most of the time, Louis couldn’t take his eyes off Harry, because if Harry likes to pride himself on being anything on stage, it’s promiscuous. And if he loves anything, it’s Louis’ eyes on him.  
Secondly, the sex has been great. Harry’s not bragging, or anything. There’s just no way to describe the feeling Harry gets when he peers at Louis through the veil of last night’s duvet, all sparkling and glowy, like all of the cliches used to describe an angel have been compressed and made into one person.  
And thirdly, just...Louis. Louis has been amazing.  
As he enters his mind, Harry decides it’s quite a good idea to find Louis amongst the crowd. It’s almost midnight, anyway, and they should definitely start the year together.  
He grabs his hand in passing, fingertips skidding over skin.  
“Come on!” Harry says.  
Louis was walking to a girl prior to Harry’s exciting intrusion, but it doesn’t seem to deter him. He simply lets Harry lead him through the crowd, smiling in some kind of silent apology, small dimples cutting through stubble.  
Harry pushes through the closed double doors and out onto the balcony, where the view is stunning, and the sky is littered with both stars and the scattering flashes of violet, olive, and ruby that accompany the fireworks from down below.  
Louis grins and lights a cigarette as the clocks below count down the last few seconds of 2013. They both stare out onto the horizon for a while, watch the bright flashes of sound and colour ricochet from the Eiffel Tower in front of them, watch the lanterns rise above the thick skyline and far above where the clouds are, watch the world spin and continue like nothing could ever stop it.  
And Harry loves this. He loves this feeling.  
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” He hears Niall yell from inside, followed by the continuous giggling of his swarm of french girls.  
A sudden lurch of excitement takes over Harry. “Happy new year, Lou!”  
He does a little bow with his hat in his hand, and Louis’ lips break out into a smile.  
Louis looks so beautiful right now. So endeared by Harry--- so warm.  
It must be love.  
Tonight is the night. Harry can feel it. This is it, the moment in which what’s between them moves into something serious. Something permanent.  
Louis’ girlfriend is in New York right now, probably shopping the new year away. And where is Louis? Louis is right by Harry’s side, as smiley and bright as always.  
“Happy new year, Harry.” Louis says.  
He looks so cool, one elbow on the balcony railing, eyes sparkling and full of love. He’s almost James Dean-like, looking at Harry with intent, this little crooked smile plastered on his face. And still, he’s so so beautiful.  
“This is going to be the best year of all.” Harry leans into Louis, leans so that their noses almost touch. “I can feel it. M’sure.”  
And he leans in to kiss Louis. He’s so buzzed that he doesn’t see that Louis dodging it a little, edging away, only slightly. Louis is uncomfortable. Louis doesn’t want to be seen.  
But he mellows in Harry’s embrace. As always.  
“Hey. Guess what?” Harry breathes, eyelashes batting on pale cheeks.  
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me regardless of what I say.” Louis tells him, a small grin on his lips, plucking Harry’s hat from his head and placing it on his own.  
Harry smiles, all sleepy and wrung with love. “I love you.”  
Then he turns around so quickly, so abruptly, that he doesn’t see Louis’ smile falter, or his lips part.  
Harry is shouting out at the top of his lungs, holding the balconies’ railing. “Harry Styles is in love with Louis Tomlinson! WHOOOOOUHOOOUUU!!!”  
(It’s cheesy as all hell but he’s drunk. He doesn’t care.)  
Louis grabs his arm, almost hastily.  
“Harry? What the fuck? What are you doing? Wh— Are you crazy? What’s gotten into you?”  
Harry turns around and it hits him like a speeding train and a ton of bricks all at once. The buzz is gone instantly, replaced with crippling fear and a strong sense of confusion.  
Louis looks puzzled, sad, and freaked out all at the same time.  
What?  
“No, no, no, no, n—” Harry steps forwards, head and heart all bundled up with bated breath.  
“I thought we were on the same page with this!” Louis is almost more distraught than Harry is. “I mean, It was clear from the beginning. I have a life. I have a bloody girlfriend for Christ’s sake! What were you thinking? We were having fun! Why do you have to ruin it? You’re supposed to be my best friend!”  
What?  
Harry stumbles backwards, like he has just been punched in the gut.  
He doesn’t know what to say, brow twisting, a knot forming in his stomach.“You’re not… You’re not ready. I thought you were. But you…you’re not.”  
Louis runs exasperated hands through his hair. “No. NO! There’s nothing to be ready for, can’t you see that? I’m sorry. I love you, okay, you’re my best friend in the entire world. It means something to me. But I’m not, like, in love with you. I was experimenting! These are my uni years, you know? Right here.”  
Harry is a wreck at Louis’ words, unable to do anything to stop his stomach dropping.  
Louis turns his head away from him, unable to hide the shame anymore. “You...You weren't supposed to fall in love, Harry.”  
Harry is devastated, knees giving away so he falls down, slumps into himself, becomes a little mess on the floor. He doesn’t know if he’s crying at this point, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the pain in the air, the strong sense of loss wrapped up in Harry’s head.  
And the way Louis is looking at him, like he can’t bear to anymore.  
Louis reaches out, as to console him, but then draws his hand away, like Harry has some kind of disease. Maybe this disease shrinks Harry, and that’s why he feels so small in front of Louis right now, like a ball of wool played at and played at until it breaks.  
When Louis speaks up, the fireworks have stilled, leaving an eerie silence between the two, a silence that clings to the air and the trees and all of the happiness down below. “I think… I think we should avoid seeing each other for a while. I think this break might be best spent apart, you know?”  
Harry doesn’t look up. He doesn’t respond, either.  
Louis gets back inside, gets lost in the crowd. He leaves the party in a hurry, ignoring the drunk acquaintances trying to catch his attention, ignoring the massive stacks of alcohol that seem oh-so-tempting right now, ignoring all of the happy faces in the dark. He grabs Niall’s arm on the way out, caught halfway through chatting to a girl in the corner.  
“Harry needs you. Balcony. Now.” Louis’ tone is quiet, serious, relentless.  
“Wh--?” Niall instantly reels back, taking both Louis’ tone and his posture as two very, very bad signs. He’s never seen Louis so serious, so small, so guilty-looking.  
Louis retreats just in time to hear a --“You’re his best friend, you’re the one supposed to take care of him!” -- burst out from behind him.  
Great. Just fucking great. Niall lets out a deep sigh, excuses himself from his favourite of all his french girls, and goes straight to the balcony. In front of the great, looming shadow of the Eiffel Tower and all of those lights, and sounds, and happiness-- he finds Harry. A mumbling, sobbing, snotty mess on the floor.  
Niall stoops down and rubs his back. He’s never been that good at consoling people. What the fuck happened here?  
He says something, but Harry isn’t listening. He’s lost in thought, and also lost in so many more ways, lost deep in the blue of Louis’ eyes, the Louis who said those horrid things, the same Louis who has just spat and stomped all over Harry’s dreams. It’s a gut feeling when Harry thinks that he and Louis are meant to be, just like the gut feeling he gets when he’s singing his heart out on stage, or looking at the sea of fans in front of him, or deciding what t-shirt to put on every morning.  
For Louis, it’s some big struggle, complicated and undecipherable.  
For Harry, the love he feels for Louis has always been as simple as A or B. It’s a feeling not too different from the certainty that the sun will soon rise above Paris and engulf the stars and all of the dark.


	9. 17

Chapter 17

 

"hello from the other side  
I must've called a thousand times  
to tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done"

Adele, Hello

January 5th, 2014.

It’s okay.  
It’s not right, but it’s okay.  
Harry guesses he could get used to this: feeling empty, having every moment of his life filled with an engulfing sense of loneliness. More often than not he doesn’t even know what time it is-- the majority of each day spent with his head in his hands, tears in his eyes, or a combination of the two. He sleeps to avoid thinking about shit, but, in the process, very much ends up thinking about shit.  
Blue eyes seep into his dreams and it makes him wake up sometimes-- causes him to sit upright in bed and feel the dread take over him. He’s unable to shake the feeling that has been lingering in the back of his mind all day, waiting around every corner, biding it’s time to remind him of the broken strings in his chest, ganging up on him when he expects it least and causing tears to well in his eyes. For a while, he sits there, staring at the wall adjacent to his bed, knees tucked up to his chest, feeling his heart thump against his bones and clutching his wrists tight.  
And then, he cries.  
In the end, he doesn’t even know what for; all reason and cause melted into one intoxicating brew of sadness, the feeling seeping along the edges of his stomach and making everything numb. He hasn’t felt anything good in days, and it’s killing him. Sometimes, he even wonders what feeling good feels like at all, because it perhaps feels like he’s never experienced a ray of joy when he’s immersed in this depression-- but then, he stops himself, because he knows, for a while, he had it perfect.  
He knows, for a while, that he was happy.  
Nights melt into mornings. He doesn’t even bother to check his phone, prefers much more to work out so that he knows he’ll sleep better-- feels like the burn and the strain of each muscle hissing beneath his vigourous regimes will dim out the pain he’s feeling otherwise, perhaps sieve out some vague feeling of happiness of exhilaration from the sweat. But, more often than not, after his workout, he feels emptier than ever.  
Almost as if everything he does is for nothing at all.  
And so he sleeps. Sometimes, he does so when he’s not even tired; drags pathetic limbs across pathetic floors and curls up on the sofa. Forces pained eyes to fuse shut and focuses only on the moment, only on the hiss and ache of each and every part of him, only on the muted burn of the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Sometimes, he’ll even turn on the television while he’s trying to shove himself into unconscious thought-- watch the figures on the screen in front of him, try to figure out the meaning of it all without opening his ears.  
And yeah, it’s not right. It’s not fucking right at all-- Harry knows this merely from the endless bouts of concern he’s getting from his friends and family, knows from the missed phone calls and lack of Louis beside him. But somehow, he can’t bring himself to care anymore. Somehow, it doesn’t matter as much as it used to-- and he can’t, for the life of him, understand why.  
Because this is it. This is ‘the ten’ that people talk about as the worst moments of their lives, the moment that makes them question everything, the moment that, in which, they feel like nothing at all. This is the ten. This is Harry, mourning over something that never existed at all, something never truly real, never truly genuine-- making progress over sharp rocks only to have his head pushed back down, underwater, submerged under the foam and left alone.  
This is Harry, at his lowest. And yeah, it’s not right.  
But it’s okay.

**

It’s unusually sunny for January-- light glaring down onto ivory-tipped treetops and casting the rooftops into blaring ethereal infinity. It’s bright in Louis’ apartment-- walls clean and crisp under the morning light and throwing sharp shadows across the carpet. He’s laying low as of now, staring up at the ceiling and dangling his feet off the side of the bed, wondering what the fuck is going on.  
He’s not bored, per say.  
Although, if he’s being honest, he’s kind of gotten used to spending so much time with Harry, and now, it’s like he’s having withdrawal symptoms.  
Fuck.  
He refuses to feel guilty about this.  
If he’s being completely honest, he’s kind of mad at Harry right now. Harry ruined their friendship. So what if he broke Harry’s heart ? It’s not Louis’ fault if Harry got carried away. Harry’s feelings are not Louis’ responsibility.  
How dare he fall in love with him?  
When things were so good, no less? When Louis was enjoying this so much? When they were having so so so much fun?  
How dare he shove his feelings in Louis’ face like that?  
Fucking Hell.  
Harry can be so selfish sometimes, Jesus.  
Louis rolls over on the bed, exhaling deeply, watching tiny people trot by on the pavement below. As he pushes his nose up to the glass, it fogs up, sinking the miniscule dots below into a haze of grey, melting the shrivelled black of the trees against the snow. He watches this for a while before placing his palm against the steam, wiping it away, letting out a tiny sigh before shuffling away from it once more.  
God.  
He’s sure he did the right thing ending his “whatever” with Harry--- and Louis was very clear from the beginning of what was between them. No one can accuse him of leading Harry on. They’re loaded, so if they were going to have fun, why not do it in style? Yeah, they went on trips together, yeah they shared the same hotel room--- but that’s only because Louis is a very practical man. Each night would’ve ended with one booty calling the other anyway, so why not share the room? It was easier that way.  
Yes, Louis was very clear from the beginning. At least, he thinks he was. Wasn’t he?  
Fuck’s sake.  
It doesn’t matter though, regardless, because Louis is not gay and it’s due time that Harry realises it himself.  
(Although he would have preferred it if it all went down a little less dramatically. And truth be told, it broke his heart a little seeing Harry bundled up on a hotel balcony crying his eyes out.)  
But, still, he refuses to feel guilty about this.  
What the fuck did you do that for, Harry?  
And if he didn’t sleep well and moped around all day long since new year, it’s only because of the constant stream of texts he’s receiving from the other members of the band, nothing else.

Nialler: That was a low blow, Tommo.  
Z: What the hell happened in Paris? Li and I were gone for 2 hours.  
Li: What’s going on, Lou? H is not answering his phone. Ni is being very cryptic and he said to take it up with you? Call me.  
Nialler: You fucked up real good. Bravo.  
Li: I’m worried about you. Call me.  
Z: I’m worried about H. His mother is trying to reach him. Did she call you? Have you heard from him?  
Nialler: I hate it when you guys block everyone out, you fuckers! ANSWER YOUR DAMNED PHONES!

He’ll see them soon enough. They have the Brits to attend to in a few days.  
Whether he wants to attend, or not...That’s a whole different matter.

**

Niall is home in Ireland, lounging on the sofa, legs dangling off the side and his phone on his chest. Every once in awhile, he glances over to the television, but his attention span has become very small, and his thoughts keep wandering elsewhere. Eventually, he gives into the temptation-- fingertips lazily skirting across his phone keyboard and a certain girl called Sam waltzing over his mind.

2:34 p.m  
BS Blond: I’m bored.

2:36 p.m  
Wifey:You’re a bloody popstar, how can you be bored?

2:36 p.m  
BS Blond: I’m not easily entertained.

2:36 p.m  
Wifey: Says the man who watched a fishtank in a hotel lobby for 35 minutes. I timed it.

2:36 p.m  
BS Blond: I swear, one of them was Nemo.

2:37 p.m  
Wifey: So you said. Just watch golf and scratch your balls. It works for my dad.

2:37 p.m  
BS Blond: Gross. I’m a very tasteful person.

2:37 p.m  
Wifey: HAHAHAHAHAHA.

2:37 p.m  
BS Blond: Fuck you.

2:39 p.m  
Wifey: You wish.

2:39 p.m  
BS Blond: Where are you? I’m in Ireland. I want to see you.

2:39 p.m  
Wifey: Of course you do. I’m in Scotland. Watching ‘Love actually’ on the telly.

Seconds later, her phone rings. She picks up.  
“I love that movie.” Niall deadpans. “Which channel?”  
Sam laughs. “Umm, ITV.”  
“Ahh. there we go.” Niall says, sitting more comfortably on his bed.  
“Are you the type to comment on everything when you watch a movie?” Sam asks, bored.  
“I am.”  
“Me too.”  
A few seconds pass.  
“What are you wearing?” Niall asks, wiggling his eyebrows for no one to see.  
Sam cackles and uses an exaggerated sexy voice, rolling her eyes--- “Ouh, I’m wearing sweatpants and mismatched socks. There’s a huge spaghetti sauce stain on my sweater too. Every guy’s wet dream.”  
Niall huffs. “Well, I’m naked.”  
“Of course you are! It’s below zero out.”  
“The boys need to breathe.”  
Sam makes a pained noise. “Are you really naked?”  
“Nah. I’m messing with you.” Niall grins. “But now you’re imagining it, so, worth it.”  
“How you get all these gorgeous women in your bed is beyond me.”  
“Hey!”  
“You have zero game.”  
“I have zero game with you. I’m generally very suave.”  
“Shhhh. I love this part." Sam says.  
Niall groans. “Nah. It’s too sad. I hate it.”  
“Onesided love makes you think of you and me too much, love?” Sam teases.  
“Haha. Yes. Well no, it reminds me of a friend. He’s not in a good place right now. And he’s not answering my calls. I’m worried and I don’t know what to do.”  
“Umm, is your friend in love with a married girl?”  
“What? no.” Niall squints. “My friend --Let’s call him Barry-- is in love with one of my other friends, ummm, Lewis.”  
“Okay. Is Lewis gay?”  
“Very good question. Let’s say he’s confused. And takes his sweet time to sort himself out. Oh, and he has a girlfriend too.”  
“Okay. I’m gonna have to do a chart for this. Be right back.”  
Niall laughs.  
Sam gets a pen and a notepad. “What’s the girlfriend’s name?”  
“Ummm, let’s call her Helena.”  
“Okay.”  
“So Barry is in love with Lewis, has been for a long time. They’re like BFFs. And they had a thing.”  
“Isn’t Helena suspicious at all?”  
“No, we were on tour.”  
There’s a loud sound of Sam dropping something.  
Niall slaps his forehead. “Fucking Hell, I’m the worst cover agent there is.”  
“You really are. My god. It’s like seeing the One Direction tell-all documentary.”  
“The behind the scenes footage would blow your mind.”  
“Do I have to sign an NDA now?” She frowns. “Your agent would want you to.”  
“I think you’re alright for now, Sam.”  
“So what’s up with ‘Barry’? I’m kinda digging the codenames, by the way.”  
“Barry is heartbroken, Lewis is confused and Helena is oblivious, apparently.”  
“Helena is irrelevant right now.” Sam states.  
“Wow. Have you ever been cheated on, Sam?” Niall says, baffled.  
Sam cocks her head on the other side of the line. “As a matter of fact I have, have you?”  
“No.” Niall shifts. “Was your ex a confused gay man?”  
“No.” She sighs. “Just a regular arsehole.”  
“Give me his name. I’ll sent my team after him. They’ll destroy him.”  
“Nah. It’s alright. But it’s nice of you to offer.”  
“I’m nothing but nice.”  
“You have your moments.” Sam says, sighing. “I suppose if Nathan was gay and figuring himself out I could forgive ‘im eventually.”  
“Was Nathan the One?”  
“God, no!”  
“Lewis is the One for Barry.”  
“What about Barry? Is he the One for Lewis?” Sam asks.  
“Hummm, good question. I don’t know yet. He certainly doesn’t either.”  
“Maybe all Lewis needs is time. Maybe he doesn’t trust Barry.”  
Niall is offended. “Barry is very trustworthy!”  
“Okay.” Sam sounds humourous. “You do realise that some people need to sort themselves out before taking the big leap, don’t you?”  
“Sam.” Niall holds out a hand. “You’re talking out of your arse. It’s fairly simple, really. You meet someone, you click and that’s it.”  
“Man, it must be nice seeing the world in black and white.”  
“Well it worked for us.”  
“There is no us, Ni.” Sam teases.  
“Not yet.”

**

January 7th, 2014.

It’s cold outside, the mood dark and bitter up above as the clouds trample over the skyline. Tendrils of frost coat parts of the pavement and from where Louis’ stood, it looks like a huge, thin pane of glass stretched out over the street-- winding up each nook and cranny of the bitter London night, casting the air sharp and slick across his face.  
Right now, he’s leaned up in the car park outside the hotel he’s staying at, close to where the Brits are being held, feigning coolness with a cigarette in one hand and a fistful of designer trouser pocket in the other.  
He’s yet to meet the others in the Limo to do their arrival before the red carpet, and, most truthfully, is dreading it like anything.  
Fuck.  
Him being here isn’t a form of stalling, or anything.  
Nu-uh.  
He's not dreading to see Harry at all.  
(Ugh. In fact, if the bloody bloke even tries so much as to yell at him he’s prepared to give him a piece of his own mind.)  
So when he eventually enters the Limo, tired limbs sauntering across ice-licked pavements, he has to do a double take, because Harry is definitely not there.  
Fuck.  
Louis’ stomach does this weird twisting thing as he takes a seat opposite Niall, chest constricting, jumbling hands trying to keep appearances up while his insides do a complete U-turn.  
Where is he?  
Louis keeps glancing at Harry’s seat, but doesn’t want to ask.  
He really, really doesn’t.  
And yet, after two minutes tops, the jittery feeling inside of him comes to the boil, and he can't keep himself from saying--  
“Is Harry running late, or…?”  
Niall makes an unbelieving huff that Louis ignores.  
Zayn shrugs. “Don’t know man, said he was ill.”  
Liam fumbles with his fingers. “Actually I think he had a family emergency.”  
Louis looks at him, frowning-- “What kind of emergency, I mean--”  
Niall cuts him off. “None of your business.”  
Louis is just baffled, voice dipping into the cold territory. “If he doesn’t want me to know, lads, just say so, no need for your passive-aggressive bullshit.”  
“Doesn't it tell you something that he’d rather fake an emergency than to be here with us?” Niall says, annoyed.  
“You’re overreacting.” Louis snaps, before averting his gaze to the window and cutting the conversation short.  
The rest of the short journey is quiet, but the conversation has Louis in a foul mood, and the questions thrown at them on the red carpet don't seem to help at all- “Wow! there's only four of you here tonight, obviously! could this be an omen for the future?”/ “Where's the curly one, boys?”/ “Is this a denial or confirmation of the rumour that Harry is going solo?”  
Fucking hell.  
Louis can barely contain his annoyance. Harry is such a diva. This is fucking unprofessional at best, not to mention childish. If Louis has to tough it out, Harry should too. Louis was blindsided, and yet, he’s here. Louis lost his best friend and yet, he’s here.  
Harry is being dramatic, that's all. Having everybody worry for no good reason. Dragging all this attention to himself.  
Fuck.  
Harry is not even here, and everything is about him. All the questions are about his absence, ironically, and, like fucking always, One Direction’s precious frontman is the one getting all the media attention.  
Even if he’s not there.  
What a fucking joke. Louis never minded Harry being the desirable one, effortlessly suave, the one in the spotlight--but now, he minds, he really does. Because Louis wouldn’t put it past Harry to use everything between them to his advantage by going off the radar and making everything about himself, to disappear completely and make everyone feel sorry for him.  
Ugh. What the actual fuck? Louis is just as involved as he is in this, and where is his sympathy? Does Louis go and fucking hide in his house when things get bad? No. And yet, it's Harry, like fucking always, that's showered in praise and care and sympathy.  
It's bullshit. Absolute bullshit.  
Since when did the world decide that Harry was the one who comes first place?

**

“Babe.” Zayn asks, squinting at the newspaper, turning the spoon in his morning tea.  
“Mmmm?” Liam looks up.  
“Have you seen this headline?”  
Liam grimaces. “Are you reading Wootton’s crap again?”  
“They say the band is splitting up soon.”  
“And?”  
Zayn bites his lip. “I don’t know.”  
“Is it because Harry skipped the Brits?”  
“I don’t know”  
“Tell me. You look worried. Don’t tell me that you think Haz’ll leave the band.”  
“No.” Zayn shifts. “Well, I mean, we can’t be a boyband forever, that’s for sure.”  
Liam doesn’t seem to get it. “Why the Hell not?”  
“If you compare us to Take That again Li, I swear to God…”  
Liam laughs. “What I mean is that no one dictates when we’re over, Z.”  
“You can’t possibly be that naive…”  
“Don’t act surprised.” Liam clicks his tongue. “That’s one of the many reasons you love me, remember?”  
Zayn doesn’t answer the banter.  
He looks worried.

**

It’s been seven days since the worst day of Harry’s life happened. It feels like yesterday and forever ago all at once. For a while, he thinks that he could get used to this numbness. The feeling of emptiness mixed with something else he can’t quite identify, spreading a cold feeling of nonchalance across his chest and his bones, settling regret into his skin.  
He hates it.  
He’s relieved to have skipped the awards, despite feeling guilty seeing the footage of his friends struggling under the reporter’s questions to explain his absence. He’s watching it now, curled up in front of the telly, old sweats on his legs, ice cream in his lap (like the fucking heartbroken cliche he is) and a shirt tad too tight on his chest. Belongs to Louis, of course.  
(Not that he’d ever admit it.)  
But, regardless, he’s sat there, feeling guiltier than ever, hail clattering down on the pavement outside seemingly matching his heartbeat. As ever, he has his breath taken away by the sight of Louis:--- looking mildly bored and extremely beautiful on the red carpet, hair gyrated into an extravagant cinnamon bun, stubble brushed lacklusterly across his jaw. He looks borderline irritated as he glances around, tugging on the corner of his jacket, eyes so blue; flaring sapphire with each flash of the cameras around him. Harry grabs his notebook, feeling frustratingly inspired by the flatscreen.

I miss those blue eyes  
How you kiss me at night  
I miss the way we sleep  
Like there's no sunrise  
Like the taste of your smile  
I miss the way we breathe

 

Harry closes his journal, irritated by his own weakness, seeing Louis radiating coolness, like he has no care in the world.  
Maybe it’s because Harry can tell. He can see in the tiny twitch of his lips that something is bothering him.  
Regardless, he can’t avoid Louis forever, but he’ll try his best. There are rounds of interviews scheduled for the next week or so and he’s arranged to be paired up with Niall or Zayn for most of them or avoid trios involving Louis (thank god for small miracles).  
But at least he’ll be doing some work. At least it’ll be something he can sink into to make everything numb.  
Because numb is good.  
Numb doesn’t hurt.  
Anything is better than what he feels right now, looking at Louis on the television, so close and so far away. Anything is better than this feeling of emptiness, like life is passing you by and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything is better that this feeling that has devoured him whole and makes him feel so lifeless and dry and uninspired and lonely.  
It’s incredibly upsetting, too, because Louis usually isn’t the person he’d associate with these feelings. Louis brings a fast heartbeat and a whirring stomach and a buzzing feeling of excitement to come over him.  
At least it used to.  
Fuck.  
Now, it’s like that happy feeling has been drenched in something cruel and cold and is ruined. Harry doesn’t know how to change it, doesn’t even know if the best case scenario could change it--- and that just makes everything feel a whole lot worse and depressing.

**

Harry is paired up with Niall for an interview on Radio 1 with Nick. He probably shouldn’t have smoked weed with Niall before it, if Harry is being honest with himself, but he kinda needed to unwind, and if weed’s good for anything, it’s making everything seem bright and fuzzy.  
He sorta needs things to seem bright and fuzzy right about now.  
They’re sat opposite Nick on a technology-sprawled table, hands in laps, headphones securely dumped on heads, microphones on, and, for some reason, Harry can’t stop staring at the way the ceiling fan is moving. It jolts every ten seconds or so, and the movement makes him want to laugh and cry all at once.  
“Lads, it’s good to see you again in our humble radio station.” Nick says, once they’re on air.  
“It’s good to be back, bro!” Niall answers, easily.  
“Now that you’re the biggest band in the world, it’s a lot harder to get in touch with you. Nick spins in his chair, grinning from ear to ear.”Yeah, you, mister H, I’m side eying you.”  
Harry giggles, feeling oddly light on his feet. “You’re my favorite anchorman, Nick.”  
“Don’t let James Corden hear that.” Niall says.  
“So the single ‘Midnight Memories’ is almost out.” Nick rests his chin on his hands “From the same titled album. I see you’ve really outdone yourselves here.”  
Niall and Harry laugh.  
“Yeah, it’s a fun song. We all wrote on it so it was really cool.” Niall says. “Although if it was up to me the chorus would have gone like “I love KFCCCCC.”  
“I figure that the people were not ready for that.”  
Niall shakes his head. “Sadly.”  
They have quick and fun banter for a bit, leaning over spaghetti-wired tabletops and laughing until Harry’s eyes sting. And it’s nice. Despite the cloud hanging over Harry’s head over the affect the weed’s having on him--- it’s nice. He could get used to distracting himself like this.  
“Soooooo... I’m taking some fan questions now. Okay, let’s see.” Eventually, Nick changes the subject, fingers tapping at phone screens and a small pout encompassing his features. “Niall. What are your favorite traits you look for in a girl?”  
“Um. Female, that’s a good trait.” Niall awkwardly laughs.  
“Not that important.” Harry giggles.  
Nick and Niall gasp.  
Harry laughs more.  
Niall takes over. “I mean, I like a girl that’s genuine and sassy and has nice curls. I like curls.”  
“I have nice curls.” Harry bats his eyelashes and puts his head on Niall’s shoulder. “Some people call me Curly, even.”  
“Yeah you do, bro.” Nick is baffled.  
After it’s over, Niall, placing his headphones on his lap, says to Harry--- “Shit, I’m never smoking with you before an interview ever again.”

**

Harry is called to an emergency meeting soon after. It’s like being called to the principal’s office, really, and Harry hates it.  
“What on earth were you thinking? First the Brits, now this?” Simon Jones, their manager, says to him.  
Harry purses his lips.  
“The press is going to go crazy. Look at the trends already.”  
Harry turns his head away from the screen shoved in his face. “So?”  
“You better hint that it was a joke in the next interview.”  
“My sexuality is not a joke.”  
“That is not what I mean.”  
“I know.”  
Silence.  
“I won’t do it. I won’t deny it. I won’t.”  
“Suit yourself.” Simon looks mad as hell.

**

After that, Harry, despite all his bravado in front of the big man, is visibly shaken. He feels exposed, pissed off, and, most of all, hurt. He refuses to follow their fucking guidelines, absolutely refuses. It’s not for them. It’s for him.  
So he decides, after that shit-storm of a meeting, not to show his hand anymore. Or wear his heart of his fucking sleeve, like always, fearing retracting everything he says like a little kid swearing in front of their parents. Because it’s bullshit. It really is.  
Maybe it will be good for him not to stimulate feelings of excitement, happiness or joy or anything anymore-- who knows? Hiding behind the glossy facade of a mega-popstar for a while sounds good compared to being forced into line and having to dish out apologies and retractions. And so what if he gives the same shitty answers in interviews? So what if he seems boring and media trained? So what if the others keep casting him worried looks? Harry doesn’t care, and the media certainly doesn’t either.  
He’s so out of character. That’s what it is. Harry, who is always aching for something more, aching to feel something more, is now a pale copy of a pale copy of a celebrity. It’s a real shame. He lets Liam and Niall talk to the interviewers and only answers when spoken to. He arrives later on purpose, partly to avoid questions, partly because the less he sees Louis the better, even if it’s just a glimpse of him going to another room. Louis looks puzzled at this (or is he worried?).  
But Harry still doesn’t care. Because, hell, the facade is working. You wouldn’t know that everything he thought to be true has been torn apart. You wouldn’t know at first glance that Harry is sad and bitter and lonely. You wouldn’t know that he resents the fact that he came so close to having it all, and now, has nothing.  
The facade is working, yes, but not on everybody.

 

**

 

Niall is lounging in one of the prep rooms, trying to decipher what’s going on in Harry’s mind when he receives a text from Sam, feet up on the sofa, body instantly jolting to a more proper posture once it comes through.

3:23 p.m  
Wifey: Oi. What do you think of this outfit?

3:23 p.m  
BS Blond: There’s no attachment. Better be lingerie.

3:23 p.m  
Wifey: Crap. I’m bad at technology. I can barely google search. Wait a sec.

 

Niall receives a photo of Sam sticking her tongue out in the mirror, swaddled cutely in a baggy top, Vans and skinny jeans.

Niall has to do a double take. She looks gorgeous.

3:24 p.m  
BS Blond: Do I look like one of your girlfriends?

3:24 p.m  
Wifey: :-D You’re right. You’re not the right person for this job.

3:24 p.m  
BS Blond: You look good in everything. Wait. What is it for? A date?

3:24 p.m  
Wifey: What if it is? :-D

3:24 p.m  
BS Blond: Quit playing games with my heart, Sam.

3:25 p.m  
Wifey: I’m dateless. There. Happy?

3:25 p.m  
BS Blond: Very. Now go back to your dungeon and lock it until we meet again.

3:25 p.m  
Wifey: Which is when, Ni? A girl has needs you know.

3:25 p.m  
BS Blond: Now we’re talking.

3:25 p.m  
Wifey: Yeah. I need to kick your butt at Monopoly.

3:26 p.m  
BS Blond: Stop sexting me. You’re making me hot. I have a interview in 5. Aren’t you in London soon?

3:26 p.m  
Wifey: I’m in London now, stupid. Why do you think I texted you this outfit? Not for your stylish eye, blondy. Didn’t you see the big London sign behind me?

3:26 p.m  
BS Blond: So feisty, and yet so tiny.

3:26 p.m  
Wifey: I can still beat you in a wrestling match.

3:26 p.m  
BS Blond: You’re getting me hot again, baby.

3:26 p.m  
Wifey: God, you’re the worst. Meet me for a drink later? In the least sexy environment possible?

3:27 p.m  
BS Blond: My place it is.

3:27 p.m  
Wifey: You mean the Barney Stinson lair? No thanks.

3:28 p.m  
BS Blond: I’ll text you the address. I really have to go now. xx

**

Later that day Harry gets a knock on the door. He opens it with bated breath and a fake smile splattered on his face, pretending that nothing at all is out of the ordinary, not shifting his composure once even when he finds Zayn stood outside. The conversation goes as follows: Zayn asking him how he’s doing, Harry politely saying ‘fine’, Zayn asking him to a party, Harry politely declining, Zayn asking him if he’s okay, Harry apologizing for not being at the award evening, and then, eventually, Zayn leaving.  
The encounter lasts two minutes tops.  
As soon as Harry sees Zayn disappear from view, he shuts the door, and bawls his eyes out.  
(Two minutes he can barely manage. A whole party? Not likely.)  
It’s when his crying movements have led him to sitting at the bottom of the door, his head pressed up against it, that he wipes tears away with a shaky hand and gets up. His guitar meets his hand somewhere along his sorrowful journey along his hallways, and soon, he’s writing alongside it, all of the songs he wrote with Louis weighing heavily beneath his fingertips.

Everytime I think of you, I always catch my breath  
And I'm still standing here, and you're miles away  
And I'm wonderin' why you left

And there's a storm that's raging through my frozen heart tonight  
I hear your name in certain circles, and it always makes me smile  
I spend my time thinkin' about you, and it's almost driving me wild  
And there's a heart that's breaking down this long distance line tonight

I ain't missing you at all since you've been gone away  
I ain't missing you, no matter what my friends say  
I ain't missing you, I ain't missing you, I can lie to myself

That night, he tweets:

We lit a match and you left me to burn.

**

It’s sunny, but the scarce, ironic type of sunny that is so often present in January; a weak sheet of sunshine draping itself over the fresh snow and glinting it etheral. It’s glow shines all of the way up the pavement and skyline, up to the sunlit-paved corners of Zayn’s bedroom window. He lets out a huge, deflated sigh and sits up in bed, the duvet sinking down to his waist, cold air whooshing across his bare back.  
“What’s going on with you, babe? You seem distant lately.” Liam perks up, still laid down in bed, hairy chest bobbing up and down from beneath the sheets.  
Zayn shrugs, avoiding his gaze. “Li, we had sex like three minutes ago.”  
Liam, oblivious as always, shuffles along the bed and hugs Zayn from where he’s laid down in bed. “I love you.”  
“Love you too.” Zayn huffs, running his hands through the mess of Liam’s floppy fringe, but continuing his moping position.  
“What is it?” Liam pouts.“Tell me. It’s driving me a little crazy, to be honest.”  
“Do you believe in forever?”  
“What?” Liam smiles.  
Zayn frowns. “I’m serious.”  
“Babe. Is it about Harry and Louis again?”  
“No. Yes. Kind of. But no.”  
“Do I believe in forever?” Liam thinks it over for a moment. “Mmm. I mean, I was going to ask you to go see my parents with me. My sister thinks that they’re ready for that. I mean obviously they know you but they don’t really know us as an us I mean… We could go next weekend and invite them to a nice restaurant.”  
Zayn groans and get out of bed.  
“What?” Liam gapes. “It could be fun.”  
“Jesus Christ, Liam, do you ever think about anything? I’m trying to tell you something here.”  
Liam blinks. “What?”  
"See, you're not even listening. Probably still planning that dinner in your head.”  
“No, no, I'm not.” Liam frowns. “I do listen. I'm listening now.”  
“You’re noooot. Urgh.”  
“You're not speaking. If you don't speak to me, how am I meant to---” Liam protests.  
Zayn puts his head in his hands and groans, incredibly frustrated.  
“Are you picking a fight with me because of H and Lou? Just because they’re in a funk doesn’t mean we have to be too, you know.” Liam frowns.  
Zayn shakes his head. “What the fuck, man?”  
“You’re so complicated, Z. ”  
“I’m not! I’m just not capable of seeing things clearly, like you do.”  
“What is that supposed to mean?”  
“Li. I know you.” Zayn sighs through his teeth. “You’re already making a five year plan for us.”  
“No, I’m not.”  
“No? Okay, answer a simple question, then. Where do you see yourself in five years?”  
“Simple.” Liam shrugs. “We’re still a band, we’re still touring, we’re still together.”  
Zayn makes a gestures that says “see, I fucking told you!”  
“Oh.” Liam face falls. “Where do you see yourself in five years, Z?”  
Zayn clenches his fists. “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure we won’t be a band and we won’t be touring and--”  
“Do not fucking finish that sentence.” Liam warns, furious.

**

Niall greets Sam at the door. She tries to act cool upon Niall’s appearance, but he very much suspects she’s nervous-- Vans shuffling her balance left and right, the bottle of wine she’s holding in a Tesco bag clutched tight.  
“Sam!” Niall grins. “Please come in. Mi lair es su lair!”  
She rolls her eyes and shoves the bottle in his chest, pecking him on the cheek with a smile.  
“I’ve missed you, fucker.” She says, entering. “Your doorman gave me the stinkeye. I feel a bit out of place now.”  
“Ha, it’s because you’re not like the usual company I keep.” Niall says, closing the door behind her and scratching his neck.  
She looks at him sideways. “Mmmm, I don’t know if I’m supposed to feel insulted or complimented.”  
He laughs, and lets her eyes wander around the flat for a while.  
She eventually breaks the silence, eyes scanning around. “So is this how the rich and famous live? I’m a bit disappointed. It’s so normal.”  
“Hah. Wait til’ you see my playroom.”  
Her face falls, eyes widened. “What do you mean, playroom? Like a Fifty Shades of Grey playroom?”  
“Jesus, no!” Niall groans. “What do you take me for, Sam?”  
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”  
He grabs her by the shoulders all of a sudden, leading her through a set of double doors that open up to a whole world of bright lights and loud sounds--- arcade games new and old scattered all over the place, flashing and casting neon lights all over the floor, a popcorn machine located right in the centre and a music system at the ready up above. The instant Sam enters she’s stunned-- eyes widening, eyebrows rising, footsteps grinding to a halt. And, for a while, she’s pretty silent too.  
Niall grins at her reaction. “Let the record show that I rendered you speechless and that you read mommyporn.”  
She nudges him in the ribs forcefully. “Still gonna beat you at Pacman.”  
The next two hours are spent in that very same room-- a montage of feverishly pressing buttons, reminiscing, and laughing over the silliest of things.  
“I bet, no other girl has ever beat you at this game.” Sam says, for example, once they’re on the Whack-A-Mole.  
“I’ve never brought no other girl to see the playroom before.”  
“I feel honoured.”  
Niall looks at her. “You should.”

**

Later, after they eat pizza, drink the entire wine bottle, and spend minutes laughing over stupid adverts playing at this time of night, they lay down on the big sofa and watch the beginning of Star Wars. She makes herself comfortable beside him, her head on the arm of the sofa, her legs folded and her bare feet centimetres from Niall’s leg. A few minutes pass, minutes filled with comfortable silence and miniscule shuffling, before Niall turns to talk to her.  
“You know what I love about this franchi--”  
But he stops.  
Because she’s fast asleep, right there, right next to him--- cheek squished on top of her hands, dark curls cambering against the sofa arm, cute little nose flushed red. She looks so peaceful in this moment, but cold too-- so Niall breaks himself from his enchantment and grabs a blanket from behind the couch. He drapes it over her with attentive fingertips, careful not to wake her up, before turning the tv off and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  
He’s about to get up to go to bed before he changes his mind and lifts her up in his arms. She puts her hands around his neck instinctively, her head falling into the crook of his neck, the blanket dropping to Niall’s feet. He carries her all of the way to his own bed, carefully rearranging the pillows around her, kissing her on the forehead as she sighs contentedly in her sleep and casting her one more glance before leaving.  
He plops himself down on the couch, tugging the blanket over himself unceremoniously, putting his hands on his forehead before staring at the ceiling for a long, long time.  
He sighs, shakes his head and says to the universe--  
“Horan, you’re screwed.”

**

The next morning, Niall is... different.  
Sam wakes up bathed in sunlight and it takes her a second to realise where she is. After one millisecond of panic, she goes to the living room and finds Niall splayed on his belly, drooling on the cushion.  
She huffs and crouches beside him.  
In a soft singing voice she says in his ear --“Rise and shine, Nialler.”  
He wakes up startled, eyes wide, hand wiping the saliva from his cheek all at once.  
Sam laughs. “Thank you for lending me your bed.”  
Niall nods frantically.  
“I can make a cup of tea if you want?”  
Niall nods frantically again.  
“What’s going on with you? You’re being weird.” Sam frowns. “Well, weirder than usual.”  
Niall stares at the wall. “Tea is good. Tea is fantastic.”  
Sam blinks at him. “Ohhkayyyy.”  
They have breakfast together, Niall being awfully quiet, staring at his cup of tea.  
Sam breaks the silence. “You’re not a morning person, I gather.”  
Niall laughs awkwardly.  
Sam gets a text then. “Shoot, I gotta go. It’s been fun, Niall. Let’s keep in touch, okay?”  
Niall nods.  
“Weirdo.” Sam mumbles, gathering her belongings.  
He escorts her to the door. “Where are you off to next?”  
“I’m not sure yet. Asia? America? Who knows.” Sam says. She kisses him on the cheek. “Don’t be a stranger.”  
And then she’s gone, leaving Niall with a strange empty feeling in the pit of his stomach, watching her march down the path and out into sunrise-dipped pavements.  
He squishes his face against the door. “Yep, Horan. So so screwed.”

**

Harry has been avoiding his family for a while. It’s not that he doesn’t miss them, he does. He’s just not equipped to put up a facade with them like he does with everyone else-- and to be honest, he knows they’ll see right through him the moment he tries. So he’s been laying low, sending vague reassuring texts every now and then, trying desperately not to make it seem like anything is wrong.  
But when he gets an angry knock on the door, it becomes quite obvious that what he’s been saying isn’t quite enough to appease them. This fact is reiterated (too, in fact, when he sees that Anne’s sent the big guns --AKA Gemma-- to his house) and his worst suspicions confirmed as he spills his guts as soon as he sees familiar lilac hair in the doorway.  
Fuck.  
“I’m going to rip his eyeballs out.” Gemma declares, barreling past him into the front room.  
Harry makes a pained noise and follows her in. He watches her pace for a few moments before sitting down on the carpet, placing his head between his knees and groaning deeply to himself.  
This is not how he wanted things to turn out.  
Gemma is still pacing, furious. “I swear, the next time I see him, I’m giving him a piece of my mind.”  
“Please, don’t. I feel embarrassed enough as it is.” Harry is banging his head on his knee.  
“Why the hell not? He clearly needs someone to knock some bloody sense into him!”  
“Don’t. Please. Don’t make me regret telling you.” Harry warns.  
“This doesn’t make any sense! Why would he do this to you? Why would you let him!”  
Harry just shrugs at that, defeated.  
“Haz.” Gemma pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a deep sigh. “I need to ask. Are you in love with him or the idea of him you got in your head?”  
“Maybe I’m in love with the man I know he could be.” Harry says, raising his head in defiance.  
(Sure, him being sat on the floor really hammers that point home.)  
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s a lot of pressure to put on someone.” Gemma says, almost like she’s thinking aloud.  
“I know he could rise up to the challenge if he wanted to.” Harry argues.  
“That knucklehead? I highly doubt that.”  
“He’s different when we’re just the two of us.”  
“Is it enough, though?”  
Harry doesn’t answer.  
She's currently walking around in the living room, inspecting the premises. The place has looked tidier, Harry will give her that, but he’s barely touched anything in the long run-- shelves growing dusty from weeks of touring, photo frames scarcely adjusted and chairs left collected. It’s a sad sight to see.  
Gemma eventually draws to a stop in front of the piano and points to a stack of paper beside it.  
“What are these?” She says, curious.  
“Songs.”  
“Meaning?” Gemma says, filing through them already.  
Harry gets up instantly and wrestles the papers out of her hands. “I’m a bloody songwriter. I write songs for a living, Gem.”  
“But they look so depressing.” She pouts. “No way it’s for your next album.”  
“I’m writing them for me.”  
“Jesus Christ.” Gemma sighs. “Okay, that’s enough. You know what you need? A regular girls night out.”  
“I’m a man.”  
“Trust me, you need it. My friend, Ariel, you know her right? She just got dumped. Let’s throw her a bone. She’s been begging me to take her out.”  
“Will we braid our hair and paint our nails?”  
Gemma laughs. “Whatever you want, love. Although it’s more likely gonna be us, a bunch of other girls, booze, singing break up angry songs and giving the stink eye to any guy who tries to approach us. Fair warning.”

**

So Gemma didn’t lie, at least. The girls do get pissed drunk in her flat where she hosted the improvised get together. Hating on the general male gender for the entire night. Throwing an occasional “no offence” his way or “you’re clearly not included in this statement, love”.  
They’re fun, and amusing too.  
And they do sing every angry break up song in the book--- from “Oughta Know” to “Before He Cheats” and “Cry Me a River” --- and yeah, Harry does sing along for most of them.  
Although he does draw the line at singing along to Taylor Swift’s “We’re Never Getting Back Together”, because he really doesn’t need someone filming him doing that and uploading it to the internet. (His life is already shitty enough right now, thank you.)  
“I hate that bitch, but what can I say, she’s the queen of breakup songs.” Ariel slurs Harry’s way, like an apology.  
When cosmos turn to Gin, it’s time for more empowering songs, it seems, and Gemma puts on Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” and sings along at the top her lungs, shouting sporadically to Harry every once in awhile-- “stop moping around and dance!” Everyone is up for “Since U Been Gone”, of course, mimicking angry faces and using toothbrushes and hairbrushes alike to act as a mike. Everyone is almost crying from laughter at the end of that one.  
And yeah, it makes Harry feel oddly better.  
Ariel urges Harry to choose a song-- “Frankly, you look like you need it.”--- and Gemma nudges him in the ribs as a silent encouragement.  
But Harry is not there yet.  
“Is it weird that I want to sing ‘Maybe This Time’?” He says to Gemma.  
“Urgh, Shut your trap.” She gets up and goes through her cds. “Here, sing this one. It suits you and won’t make me want to throw you out the window.”  
Harry looks at the cd and smiles a private smile.

Hold up  
Hold on  
Don't be scared  
You'll never change what's been and gone

May your smile (may your smile)  
Shine on (shine on)  
Don't be scared (don't be scared)  
Your destiny may keep you warm

Cos all of the stars  
Are fading away  
Just try not to worry  
You'll see them some day  
Take what you need  
And be on your way  
And stop crying your heart out

Harry sleeps a little better that night. He feels like he’s inbetween stages, almost like he could feel better or fall back into depression with just a nudge.  
Time will tell, he supposes.

**

The twins are going to be born soon, and Louis’ mother insists that he has to be home. Free from any promo obligation and being well--- a little lonely,-- he agrees easily. It’ll do him good to be surrounded with family. To be away from the drama for a while.  
Or so he thinks, because as soon as he arrives in Doncaster, he barely has time to settle down before Jay is shouting from downstairs.  
“Mark! It’s time, honey! Boo, grab my suitcase in my room! Lottie, you’re in charge!”

**

Mark and Louis are patiently sitting in the hospital waiting room, anticipating an update. Jay insisted on doing it alone-- “This is not my first rodeo, boys.”-- and so, they are left to sit.  
Waiting rooms are so boring. White walls, white floors, white doors-- it sort of seems like more of a prison cell to Louis than anything. He's not going to complain, though. Mark, beside him, is clearly in more of a fuzz-- feet bobbing up and down on the floor, jaw moving every once in awhile to show his frustration-- and at least Louis is calm about this whole thing now. He has been here time upon time, after all.  
Over the years, this place has become oddly familiar to him-- no matter how many cities and countries he tours in, no matter how many awards One Direction stack onto their shelf. This place never, never fucking changes. Tinny smell. Squeaky floor. Endless nerves and a muted soap opera playing above.  
Mark lets out a thick sigh, attempting small talk to mute his nerves. “Haven't seen Harry in a while. Popstar life too eventful, or something?”  
“Or something.” Louis mumbles.  
Mark looks puzzled.  
Louis looks at his feet. “We’re kind of not speaking right now, dad. I’d rather not get into it.”  
“What happened?”  
“I wish I knew.”  
“Well whatever it is, sort it out, because you’re snappish when the two of you are in a fight and your mother doesn’t need that right now.”  
Soon, they’re being called out the room by a nurse.

**

Jay looks surprisingly good, albeit a little tired-- grey lines hanging under her eyes like carrier bags, lips drawn right in a smile. She has Doris in her arms.  
Ernest is in a basket nearby.  
“Doris, meet daddy.” She says, as Mark approaches. He's quick to tear up as he takes her in his arms.  
“Ernest, meet your brother, Boo.” Jay says, as Louis approaches the basket.  
He's surprised by the sudden rush of emotions overwhelming him all of a sudden, shooting up his stomach and smile, making his smile crinkle and his knees wobble.  
I want this. I want a family someday. Full of laughter and love.  
He bites his lip, overwhelmed by the sight of this little bundle of joy wrapped up in a blanket, and with tentative hands, puts Ernest in his lap.  
“Hey there, little guy.” Louis says in a small voice, feeling emotion grip his chest like a vice and refusing to let go. “Welcome to the world.”  
Ernest slowly stirs, pink eyelids fluttering open, tiny mouth gaping and shuffling as he opens one eye, looks at Louis, and yawns. Louis laughs and extends his finger towards the tiny palm of Ernest’s hand, gently stroking, and smiling as Ernest instantly closes his fingertips tight around it.  
“Good grip.” Louis says, quietly. “Don’t tell your sister, Ernie, but you’re already my favourite Tommo.”  
Jay looks at him very fondly.  
Soon Mark urges Louis to swap babies. “I wanna meet my boy.”

**

Back in London, Harry has plans with Nick. He considers cancelling, heart heavy with exhaustion, hopes weighed down by love long lost and feelings long stomped out, but eventually comes to the conclusion that he could use something to take him away from the frame of thinking he’s trapped himself in.  
Away from him.  
Although, an Augustana concert might not be the best of ideas right now, so that’s exactly what he says to Nick once they meet up.  
But Nick is instantly in protest of this. “But you love them, Haz! We’ve been planning this for months.”  
And, yup, as it turns out, Harry is right.

Hey, I'm the blood in your veins  
I'm the cold when it rains  
I'm your heart when it breaks  
Time, no it ain't on our side  
I'm the truth to your lie  
I'm your tear when you cry

Back and forth and side to side  
Right ain't wrong if wrong ain't right  
Well I will love you day and night  
'Cause I still ain't over you

-I Still Ain’t Over You

Harry sips on his third drink of the night, feels the words burn his throat and scorch alight tire marks down his spine.

Keep running baby don't look back  
Keep running down a one way track  
You'll be the one to break my heart in two  
I'll be the one to take the hit for you

-Wrong Side Of Love

Throwing all my calls away, you don't need me, you don't need me...  
Drink at night and sleep all day, well I don't need you, I don't need you...  
I drove on every interstate, but you don't need me, you don't need me...  
Well anyways, ya anyways, it's over, over, over, over now…

-Feel Fine

By the time they sing ‘Shot in the dark’, Harry is pissed drunk, the concert blaring all around him, the lights forming one foggy blur and ricocheting from the crowd. He can’t feel anything anymore, nothing except the wind brushing past his raised arms, nothing but the heat radiating from his cheeks and the glass in his hand.

Rising up slowly and I'm getting higher  
I've been living with a hole in my heart  
Weighing down on me, baby I'm a fighter  
I know I still got a shot in the dark  
Baby, we still got a shot in the dark  
And I know that I still got a shot

When they go out, Nick is literally helping Harry to walk, drunken limbs staggering across the pavement, the air freezing against Harry’s chest and neck. But he doesn’t care about the cold, doesn’t care about anything, has an agenda hardwired into his brain and slurred responses hand in hand with them.  
“Easy there, Harry.” Nick breathily laughs, as Harry tries to jog over the curb and across the road.  
Scattered legs are tugged to a halt as Nick pulls on his arm, amused at Harry’s drunken splendour, grinning as Harry puts an arm around his shoulders and stutters forwards once more. It’s in no way sophisticated or neat, but Harry’s head is pounding, and all he wishes for is one more drink.  
“Nick. Nick. Brother.” He holds Nick’s shoulder tight. “Take me to the nearest train station.”  
Nick shakes his head. “I’m taking you to bed, more like.”  
“Nickyyyy. I’m not sleeping with youuuu.”  
“Ew. Gross.”  
“See, I’m a kept man.”  
“You’re a drunk man, right now.”  
“Train station, Nick. I need to get to Donny.” Harry slurs, pulling himself out of Nick’s hold and wrestling his own way back onto the curb, eyes searching in the dark for any plausible sign of a destination.  
“Harry, what the fuck are you doing?” Nick calls out. “You can't just leave like this.”  
“Sure I can.” Harry says, simply, before walking in the complete opposite direction.  
Quick footsteps sound behind him as Nick runs to catch up-- arms around Harry’s shoulders, a concerned look on his face. “C’mon, Harry. Let’s just go back to your place, alright?”  
Harry shakes and shakes his head, trying to move his legs in the opposite way to where Nick is taking him, words and thoughts lost in the fuzz dawning over his mind.  
“Let’s go back to your place.” Nick repeats. They walk about three metres before Harry is protesting again, shoving his fists futilely against Nick’s shoulders, fringe flopping down over his forehead.  
“No! I have to go Nick, I have to go right now!” Harry begins to shout.  
Someone in the process of walking their dog in the late night breeze begins to stare from across the street, and Nick literally has to drag Harry to his house-- hands pushing him inside, batting away Harry’s weak attempts of escaping. Nick somehow manages to close the door shut as Harry continues to try to push past him to get out-- grasping at the door handle, weakness seeping across his movements like a sponge leaking water, pathetic legs finally giving way from beneath him.  
“Nick, I have to okay?” Harry says, tugging on Nick’s shirt as he falls to the floor. “Please, please.”  
Nick stares at him, alarmed as Harry tugs on the bottom of Nick’s jeans, weak and pale and stumbling, a drunken mess if he’s ever seen one.  
“I have to know for sure, Nick.”  
Nick gasps, realisation striking.  
“He might love me, Nick, he might, he might.” Harry is pitiful, rambling on the floor.  
Nick bites his bottom lip, looking pained.  
“Fuck.” He mumbles, stooping to help Harry off the floor. “Come on, Haz.”  
Harry protests against Nick’s efforts to help him up, but eventually gives in, forearms tagging him up off the floor, face scrumpled at Nick’s words and movements.  
“You don’t understand Nick. What we have, it’s worth fighting for.” Harry shouts, untangling his arms from him.  
“What you had, Haz. What you had.”  
The reality of Nick’s words hit Harry all at once. They’re uninvited, unwanted, but tear his sudden confidence to shreds and burn a fire in his throat all at once. It’s not soon before they’re causing tears to arise from his stomach and his chin to fall to his chest-- sniveling, pathetic, small. It’s ugly, and it’s drooly, and it’s in no way expected, but Nick is there anyway, soothing and murmuring “It’s alright, let it all out,” in his ear...  
And it must work, for the most part, because Harry doesn’t protest once when Nick finally manages to lead him out of the corridor and to the sofa. He doesn’t even speak when Nick buries him in pillows and blankets, doesn’t stir once when Nick turns the channel over to some dumb kid’s programme to distract him for a while. In fact, he lies there deathly still, eyes red and weeping, bottom lip trembling until the alcohol from earlier crowds in and he shuttles off to sleep.  
Nick doesn’t say a word, either. He’s watching from the doorway, lips pursed tightly together, barely moving as one word forms in his head---  
Shit.  
When he wakes up, hungover and dreary, pillow wet from the tears and head pounding from the pain, Harry sends out a tweet.

I was ridin' by, ridin' alongside for a while, till you lost me in the rear view

**

“Do you like it this way?” Eleanor asks, putting her tiny mouth on Louis’ cock, one hand at the base.  
“Mhmm.” Louis answers noncommittally, his eyes closed.  
He’s laid back on the couch, Eleanor on her knees in front of him, fluttering fake eyelashes and pumping small circles around his cock with perfectly pink nails. The house is empty right now, the girls at school, Mark visiting Jay and the newborns in the hospital.  
“Are you sure?” She asks, puzzled.  
He nearly scoffs. Louis can get it up, thank you very much. He’s a young man with a healthy sexdrive, okay?  
He’s just tired, is all. He’s been taking care of the family. He’s been touring for three and a half years straight. He’s allowed to have days off.  
“Yeah, just--” Louis puts his hand on hers, helping her getting him harder. “Rough night, is all.”  
And then, he kisses her as a way of ignoring the quizzical look she sends him. Soon enough, she’s panting and unbuttoning her shirt, Louis helping her with her panties and skirt. She’s about to get on his lap facing him but he stops her, urging her to sit her back to his front.  
“I want to see you, Boo.” She pouts with pink lips.  
“But I missed your arse so much, baby.” Louis says.  
He’s not lying. He’s not. Eleanor has a great arse.  
She eventually huffs and complies.  
So what if he keeps his eyes closed the whole time? So what if she doesn’t make the right sounds or if the weight on his lap doesn’t feel quite right? It doesn’t mean anything.  
It doesn’t.  
It fucking doesn’t.

**

It’s on that same sleepy snow-strewn afternoon that Louis goes to the hospital with Eleanor. She insisted, obsessed with the idea of meeting the twins and falling in love with Doris instantly.  
Louis spends the majority of the visit carrying Ernest around, showing him birds through the windows. Louis can’t help it, effortlessly amazed by Ernest’s every tiny reaction, sounds and general cuteness.  
“You’re a natural, El.” Jay says.  
And it’s then that Louis chokes on his own spit, coughing uncontrollably.  
“Are you alright?” Eleanor asks Louis.  
“Ahem. Yeah, wrong pipe. S’nothing.” Louis answers, painfully, tearing up from the unexpected coughing.  
Ernest begins to wail in his arms, alarmed by the sudden movement and noise. Jay extends her arms to get her son, Louis handing him to her reluctantly.  
“Doris is so tiny and perfect.” Eleanor says, in the general direction of Louis. “I want one just like her.”  
“Okay, no more babies for you, love.” Louis takes Doris from Eleanor’s grip and puts her back in her bassinet.  
“Are you ready to go? I have to get ready if we’re going out tonight.” She pouts.  
“Do you mind if we take Oli and Cal with us? They’ve been begging me to go out with them but I’ve been busy with the kids.”  
“I guess…”  
Louis grins. “Perfect, you’re the best.”

**

So what if the date night turned into Nando’s and clubbing? Louis doesn’t feel that bad about it, no matter how much he should. Eleanor spends the majority of the night giving him the cold shoulder, that is, until she randomly spots an old friend of hers. (Blonde, cute, kind of shy.)  
But anyway. Eleanor’s mood improves greatly after that, the booze not exactly hindering things either, and it’s not soon before she’s turning into a happy and cuddly drunk with her friend Briana (or is it Bethany? Briani? Louis can’t recall at the moment) and dragging Louis into a giggly round of selfies. It seems to please them to no end.  
Oli, on the other hand, does not share the girl’s good mood. In fact he looks bored, borderline mopy.  
“What is it Oli? Are we boring you?”  
The girls still in his lap giggle some more and fall back in their conversation.  
Oli gets beside him and leans into his ear. “If you play your cards right, Tommo, you’re getting the hottest threesome tonight.”  
Louis laughs.“What?”  
Oli just looks at him dumbfounded.  
Louis shakes his head. “It’s not my thing, bud.”  
“Lou, you’re so weird.”  
“And you’re so random, Oli.”  
“What is your thing, even?”  
“I’m not discussing my kinks with you, man.” Louis answers easily. “Now go and fetch me a drink please, I’m parched. And as you can see, I can’t move.”  
Oli looks at him like he’s the greatest mystery in the universe, making Louis a little uneasy.  
“Why don’t you stop obsessing over my sex life and concentrate on meeting someone for yourself, lad?” Louis shifts. “How about that?”

**

Harry should really not do this. Especially after half a bottle of Gin. Especially in the foggy headspace he’s in again. He really, really should not check the internet for the whereabouts of a certain ex-whatever, no matter how much he wants to.  
His face falls reading the first search results.  
“Two girls, 1D? Popstar Louis Tomlinson spotted cosied up with girlfriend Eleanor Calder and other mystery blonde at Cirque Le Soir in London last night.”  
The photos are even worse than the headline. Louis looking dishevelled but smiley, Eleanor in his lap while he’s talking to Oli, taking selfies with a girl kissing his cheek, giving an obviously drunken middle finger to the paps as he leaves.  
Harry is fuming. Here he is, nursing a heartbreak in a shirt stained by his own tears, greasy hair and questionable odor, while Mister Tomlinson is hitting the fucking town and living life like nothing is wrong at all.  
Just fucking great.  
How pathetic can Harry get before he gets out of this fucking state? How many more times can he be reduced to this? What more can Louis possibly take from him?  
Times heals all wounds, they say. Like everything, it’ll pass, they say.  
What a load of bullshit.

 

4:04 a.m  
Curly: I hope there's enough space in your closet for you, your beards, and your giant ego.

4:09 a.m  
Curly: did I mean nothing at all?

4:19 a.m  
Curly: I fucking hate you right now.

4:21 a.m  
Curly: I can’t wait to not care anymore.

Louis doesn’t answer any of his texts. Harry falls asleep on his couch, head fuzzy with alcohol and loneliness and Louis.  
In the morning, he wakes up with a sour taste in his mouth and, unsurprisingly, with the hangover of the century, his anger has not died down.  
He posts another tweet.

It's a wonder at all that the sky is not falling down, it's a wonder at all that I decide to breathe

**

Louis has offered to look after the kids a lot more than usual after Jay’s return home, claiming he wants to help his mother who is still recovering from giving birth. This has nothing to do with the fact that he’s desperate to be distracted. Or because the thoughts in his head are not ones he wants to explore, nope. It has nothing to do with the stream of texts Harry sent him a few days prior. No, sir-ee.  
Yes, he was in shock reading them. Yes, he’s written many responses to them but found no right answer without fail.  
Because what is there to say?  
Jay is clearly surprised at how much he’s helping out around the house, and how little he's hanging out with his friends. His time nowadays is spread between working out, helping out and trying to write music.  
(Trying being the operative word here.)  
“Boo! There’s something in the mail for you, honey!”  
He’s fumbling around the piano when a letter comes in through the mail, and he instantly gets up to see what it is. Stooping down to retrieve the envelope, he can’t help his heartbeat from quickening when he recognises the familiar handwriting.  
There’s one word on the front aside from his address, scrawled in the typical Harry style:  
LOUIS.  
Curiosity grips his chest as he feels along the surface, frowning a little. It feels empty at first, but then, he catches a sharp edge from beneath the paper with his thumb, and knows instantly what it is.  
Dread washes across his throat.  
The paper plane necklace.  
He opens it to make sure there’s no note with it. There isn’t.  
Louis shouldn’t be surprised. Louis shouldn’t be sad. Louis got what he wanted. What he specifically asked for. Clean separation.  
Then why do his eyes sting all of a sudden?  
Fuck this shit.  
“Mum, I’m going to go for a jog and clear my head for a bit, yeah?”

**

Louis is awfully quiet that night, not even yelling at the tv while the football blares on, scarcely involving himself in conversation or interaction. In fact, he’s the first one to get up when one of the babies start to cry, almost desperate for distraction, the way his head is whirring unpleasant and unwarranted.  
He tosses and turns in his bed afterwards, feeling oddly empty, unable to pinpoint what the hell is wrong with him.  
He takes his phone in his hands, scrolling up and down his notifs, the bright light splayed over the pillow and flashing out the dark. Then, he opens his contact list, scrolling down it until his breath catches in his chest.  
Curly.  
He presses the call button, almost like he has an out of body experience, without really meaning to.  
Ring, ring, ring. Louis’ throat is closing with every ring, and, for some reason, he’s taking long deep breaths to calm his nerves.  
A low voice, wrung with sleep, answers, sounding a million miles away. “Fuck, who’s calling at this hour...”  
Then, silence. Or, more accurately, laboured breathing on Harry’s part.  
“What do you want, Lou?” He finally spits.  
Louis attempts to speak, but the words get stuck between his stomach and his throat. He’s very aware that he’s holding his breath without meaning to.  
“Hello? Are you there? Are you butt calling me? Jesus fuck.” And then Harry hangs up.  
Louis stares at his phone for a long moment afterwards, the reality of the situation not really dawning on him, his mind blank. Eventually, the silence begins to kill him, and he has to get up out of bed, has to fill the quiet in his ears with something. He goes to his portable piano, turns the light on, and dampens out the loneliness with tones.

Honey you are a rock  
Upon which I stand  
And I came here to talk  
I hope you understand  
The green eyes, yeah the spotlight, shines upon you  
And how could, anybody, deny you

Fuck.  
FuckFuckFuck.  
Louis let his head fall on the keys, banging his head on the keys until the song is fully out of his head.  
He deletes the recording.

**

Louis wakes up with the necklace imprinted on his cheek.  
Fucking great.  
He delicately puts it around his own neck, pats it when he’s done, and is very intent on getting busy today.  
He barely eats breakfast, but no one really notices. After he’s finished (well, not really) he goes to his mother. She’s doing the dishes, seeming so peaceful swaying and humming along to the radio, hands swishing around the bubbles.  
Louis can’t stop himself from smiling at the sight, but soon enough, he’s pissed.

So this is me swallowing my pride,  
Standing in front of you saying, "I'm sorry for that night,"  
And I go back to December all the time.  
It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you.  
Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine.  
I'd go back to December, turn around and make it all right.  
I go back to December all the time.

“Mum, please, This is supposed to be my safe haven.” Louis says, irritated.  
Because Taylor Swift hitting a little too close to home will not cut it. At all.  
Jay laughs and turns the radio off. “I’m sorry, I forgot about the ‘No Taylor Swift in the house rule’, Boo.”  
He pecks her on the cheek. “Thanks.”  
He kisses every one of his siblings on the head before heading out for a jog. The crisp cold air in his lungs makes him feel more alive, despite, for some strange reason, the fact that he seems to have some trouble breathing.  
It’s the temperature. It must be. It has nothing to do with the heavy smoking he’s been doing or anything else.  
As soon as he’s back, he showers and drops heavily on his bed. At least the exercise cleared his head a bit. He is, quite simply, upset because the lines have been all blurred and he has no idea how to reverse any of it. A best friend would be quite handy to sort this out right now.  
He takes his phone.  
Last called. Curly.  
He presses the button again.  
“Hello?” A tentative, almost scarred Harry answers.  
And like clockwork, Louis’ heart is in his mouth again, rendering him speechless. But this time, Louis is breathing heavily, trying to calm his nerves.  
In, out, in, out.  
“I can hear you, you know?” Harry says.  
He’s so happy to hear Harry’s voice. So sad, too. He feels so far away from him right now, light years from what they were mere weeks before.  
Louis wants to yell at him, to apologize, to beg, to blame him for everything that went wrong all at the same time.  
But, instead, he just breathes.  
Harry sounds pained. “What do you want from me? I don’t understand, Lou.”  
Louis gasps.  
“I want the feelings to go away too, but you’re not helping one bit.” Harry says, before hanging up.  
That night, Harry sends out another tweet.

You can trip, flick a switch negative, break the circuit between us  
but electricity lingers  
in our fingers

In the morning, Harry writes “Don’t let me go” and, like always, it goes on top of the pile of songs written about Louis.

 

**

Louis keeps busy. He helps around the kitchen, to the surprise of his parents, he helps the girls with their homework. And, yeah, it’s kinda nice being involved again. Feeling included, feeling like part of a unit, where everything works and nothing is left in the air.  
At night, when everyone is asleep and and all he has is misery as sole company, it’s all very different though.

2:00 a.m  
Louis writes

This time, This place  
Misused, mistakes  
Too long, Too late  
Who was I to make you wait  
Just one chance  
Just one breath  
Just in case there's just one left

“Fucking great.” Louis thinks, making a nice paper ball with the lyrics.

3:00 a.m  
Louis stares at a spot on the ceiling.

3:02 a.m  
David Beckham is looking at him.

3:05 a.m  
Louis picks up his phone, instantly dialling the number, staring at the ceiling as the tones ring in. Praying to every God above that words don’t get stuck in his throat this time.  
And Harry really shouldn’t pick up. He really, really shouldn’t. And yet he does, incapable of resisting.  
Harry doesn’t greet him this time. He just sighs.  
Louis closes his eyes on the other side of the line, listening to Harry’s breathing.  
“Lou, it’s fucking 3 a.m.”  
No response.  
“I’m sick of this, alright?”  
Deafening silence.  
“I’m hanging up now.”  
Bip. Bip. Bip.  
Louis can only clench his fists on the duvet, clutching his eyes tight.

**

February 1st, 2014.

When Louis next calls, Harry is having a party. He knows this for many reasons, but the most prominent being the laughter and noise crackling on the other side of the line. After a few seconds, the noise shifts and quietens, drawing to a close with the sound of a door closing and breathing on the other side.  
Harry must’ve gone to another room. Louis closes his eyes tight, trying to picture what’s going on on the other side.  
How everything feels.  
Harry sounds desperate. “Say something. Please.”  
Silence.  
“I can’t go on like this, it is driving me crazy.”  
Silence.  
“Next time I’m not picking up, I swear.”  
In the middle of the night, though, Louis sends a simple “Happy Birthday” text. Harry doesn’t answer.  
Louis writes that night.

All of the things that I want to say  
Just aren't coming out right  
I'm tripping on words, you got my head spinning  
I don't know where to go from here

He rips it all to shreds as soon as he finishes it, disgusted with himself.  
He really doesn’t mean to write every song about Harry. He really, really doesn’t. But ironically, this is all he manages to do now.

 

**

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.  
A glass vase crashes to the floor, shattering beneath Louis’ feet as he’s pushed against the bathroom wall, t-shirt ruffled against the mirror. Harry pushes and holds him there, kissing him with one hand against the wall above Louis’ head, the other on Louis’ waist. He draws deep, concentrated kisses out of him, one by one, before roughly grinding their groins together and sampling a pained whimper out of Louis, right from the depths of his fucking throat.  
Fuck.  
Harry grabs Louis’ crotch, palming him through the fabric of his jeans, feeling Louis buckle and squirm under the touch. “Do you miss it?”  
Louis lets out a pained noise at the touch, eyes fluttering shut, head tilting back. It’s not soon before Harry is gripping onto either side of Louis’ thighs, moving them swiftly to the sink, sucking on his neck as Louis grips onto the counter for dear life. Harry’s touching him everywhere by now, licking purposeful stripes up and down his jaw, holding him still as Louis grunts and trembles against the movement.  
He turns them around, so that Louis’ back faces Harry’s chest, and arches Louis’ neck back to kiss him. Louis is panting as Harry works rough lines into Louis’ crotch with his fingertips, sucking steadily at his jaw and cheek, feeling Louis shake at each circle Harry presses into him, juddering with every stripe Harry etches along his neck.  
Harry grinds his hips into Louis’ arse. “Is this want you want, baby?”  
Louis lets out a surprised squeal at that, head dipping down, hands clasping onto the taps in front of him, chest rising and falling at an erratic rate.  
“For me to take you apart?” Harry moves over to Louis’ ear, hot air blasting down his skin, nipping up and down.  
Louis makes a sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp, thoughts blurring inherent, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.  
“Do you want me to, baby?” Harry is unbuttoning his own shirt with one hand.  
Louis can barely breathe, eyelashes fluttering shut as Harry continues to touch him below, unintentionally arching his bum back and feeling his heartbeat thump through his chest.  
“Tell me that you want me.” Harry breathes, removing Louis’ t shirt.  
I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you.  
“Do you want my fingers, Lou? Do you want my cock?” Harry says, unbuttoning his pants all the while touching Louis.  
Louis’ throat is burning. He can barely think.  
“I want to do that for you. I want you to feel what it’s been like for me all along.” Harry says, unbuttoning Louis’ jeans, tugging them down with his pants to his knees and freeing his hard cock.  
He lingers there for a bit, kissing and biting at Louis’ neck, touching his cock with sweeping cold fingertips. At this point, Louis is mumbling incoherent whimpers, panting with his bottom arched out, silently begging for more.  
“I want you to feel what it’s like to have someone under your skin.” Harry says, ghosting his fingers in Louis’ crack. Louis instantly rocks back up, head leaning onto Harry’s shoulder, chest jarring with every sweeping movement Harry makes.“I want you to be inside of you, just say the words, love.”  
“Tell me you love me, Lou.”  
Louis jolts awake, his fingers inside of himself, hard as a rock and a heartbeat loud as thunder ringing in his ears.  
It’s after he’s come, guilt quickly wiped off the top of his thighs and shoved into the washing basket, shaky handfuls of water splashed on his face and a tight throat refusing to unwind, that he sits down at his piano and writes a song.

A hundred days have made me older  
Since the last time that I saw your pretty face  
A thousand lies have made me colder  
And I don't think I can look at this the same

But all the miles that separate  
Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face

I'm here without you, baby  
But you're still on my lonely mind  
I think about you, baby  
And I dream about you all the time  
I'm here without you, baby

But you're still with me in my dreams  
And tonight it's only you and me.

 

The next morning, the song gets deleted, and Louis gets the noughts and crosses game tattooed on his arm. A game impossible to win.

**

Harry is startled by his phone buzzing on his nightstand in the middle of the night. He blinks once, twice, and let his eyes get used to the sudden light cutting through the darkness of the room.  
2 a.m.  
Harry knows it’s Louis even before taking the phone in his hand. He hesitates. Harry doesn’t know if he can deal with Louis right now. Louis has kept him up every night of the week, and now, Harry’s just plain exhausted.  
“Hello?” Harry slurs, voice thick with sleep.  
He’s answered by muffling sounds, the phone obviously being moved around. And what sounds like burbling? A shushing sound. Then, more clearly, gurgling. A little cry.  
“Is there a baby crying, Lou?” Harry asks, tears instantly pooling in the corner of his eyes.  
He’s answered by another cry and soothing sounds.  
“Lou, are-- are the twins born?” Harry asks, voice weak, a large lump in his throat preventing him to talk louder.  
There’s a humming sound, a melody, and then, a voice. It’s clearly Louis, singing no louder than a whisper, punctuating every sentence by a shushing sound. Harry thinks it’s a lullaby at first, but then, he hears the words being sung on the other side of the line, and his heart feels cold all of a sudden. There’s something about the notes of it, something that strikes a painful chord within himself and makes him feel sad and wistful all at once-- some kind of recognition that rings from the song Louis is singing.  
It sounds a little like one of Harry’s in melody, not that Louis would know about it, of course--- just another on the pile of his neverending stack of love songs --- but it hurts how they seem to echo each other without even realizing.  
It hurts that their songs sound so similar, but their hearts are so far away.

If there's love just feel it,  
If there's life we'll see it,  
This is no time to be alone, alone, yeah,  
I, won’t let you go

And if you feel the fading of the light,  
And you're too weak to carry on the fight,  
And all your friends that you count on have disappeared  
I'll be here, not gone, forever, holding on

If your sky is falling,  
Just take my hand and hold it,  
You don't have to be alone, alone, yeah,  
I, won't let you go

Before the line cuts, Harry can clearly hear “Sleep tight, baby boy” being whispered.

**

Dear Louis,  
I dreamt once that I lost you. We were on icebergs. And I can’t remember if you were floating away from me, or I was floating away from you. But I remember waking up beside you. It was the middle of the night and it was raining, like tonight. And I heard your breathing, calming me. It was like we could speak without words. I wonder how and when we learned this secret language. I only know that at some point, in the silences, I heard you.  
Love, always, Harry.

Harry never sends the letter. Instead, he gets a tattoo in the shape of a heart on his arm, where a sleeve would be, and concentrates on the pain of the needle gliding over his skin while the tattoo artist works on him. It has always grounded him in times like these, kept his mind steady and his thoughts focused. But, now, somehow, this time feels different.  
Now, this time, his mind is wandering to places outside of the ink shooting across his skin.  
What happens now?  
He has gone through all the stages of grief, hasn’t he?  
Denial? Check.  
Anger? Check.  
Bargaining? Check.  
Depression? Oh boy, Check.  
Acceptance. Acceptance. Hmmmmmm.  
Harry stares at his new tattoo for a long bit and thinks---  
Now enough. Enough.


	10. 2

Chapter 2

 

"And this distance between us  
Has come and cut as clean as  
A sharp blade"  
\- Nina Nesbitt, Hold You

 

February 12th, 2014

 

There’s something wrong with Harry’s heart.  
It shouldn’t be working like this. It should be doing something else. Something normal. More like everybody else’s heart.  
He doesn’t understand it. It’s the second leg of the new tour, a new beginning, a new start-- something usually held in reverence as far as Harry’s concerned. But already, his judgement has clouded, his head is swirling around in wheezing little circles and his heart-- don’t get him started on his heart.  
His heart is filling his chest like some giant, undigested kebab, ricocheting from side to side every time he thinks he sees a flash of brown hair pop out from behind one of the cherry trees, threatening to burst every time he thinks he hears that laugh in the back of his head, and shaking furiously with guilt every time he thinks of what he’s doing.  
His heart is stabbing him in the back.  
His heart is ready to kill him.  
It’s Saturday morning, a big blue day in February, and the park is almost empty. Almost, but not quite.  
In one of the many patches of grass where they don’t allow ball games, there is an old Japanese man with close-cropped silver hair and skin the colour of burnished gold. He has to be only around Harry’s dad’s age, pushing sixty, but he seems oddly fit and youthful. He’s wearing a baggy, silver tracksuit that makes him look like he’s wearing his pyjamas and he’s moving very slowly, as if he’s moving his arms and legs to some silent, peaceful song inside his head.  
With each slow, steady movement of the old man’s arms, Harry gets more and more agitated. Louis promised he’d be here five minutes ago.  
Where is he?  
Harry checks his watch for what feels like the thousandth time in minutes and tries to keep calm despite the raging battle that’s going on inside his ribcage. His heart is pulsing inside of him, causing panic and a new wave of frustration to rise up to his throat.  
God. He shouldn’t let this boy do this stuff to him. For all Harry knows, Louis is at home right now, cackling at Harry’s misery, stuffing alcohol and God knows what drugs into his system and kissing one of his many girlfriends---  
No.  
No.  
Harry refuses to think like that. He knows Louis. He knows him better than Harry knows Harry, which is both saying something and stating a problem.  
The old Japanese man is not the only sign of life. On the far side of the park, peppered with early-morning frost and slush left from snow long past its welcome point, there are some Friday-night stragglers, a bunch of bleary teenagers who still haven’t gone home.  
The members of this little gang are every shade of the human rainbow, and although Harry is very much in favour of the multicultural society, something about the way these lads are loudly gobbing on the sidewalk, beer cans still in their hands, does not make Harry feel overly optimistic about mankind’s ability to live in peace.  
Or overly optimistic about anything, if he’s going to be completely honest. In his current position, he’d give anything for a friendly face, or an arm to cry on, not a gang of guys in padded jackets that all look like they’re going to take out some of his teeth.  
When they clock Harry shivering beside one of the frozen-over fountains, they exchange knowing grins and Harry thinks: what are they laughing at?  
He immediately knows the answer.  
They are laughing at a red-cheeked, blurry-eyed twenty-year-old in a brand-new coat and winter gear who clearly had nowhere to go last night and nobody to go there with. Someone who gets a lot of early nights. Someone who is not special at all in any way, and someone who is about to have their heart full-on trodden on.  
Or is Harry being too hard on himself?  
“Check the chopstick,” One of them says.  
Check the chopstick? What does that mean? Does that mean Harry? Check the chopstick? Oh, God. Is that new?  
He tows his gaze from them, white puffs of breath escaping the gap in his hood, and glances down at his watch. Seven minutes late. God, Harry is such an idiot. He’s such a stupid, stupid, idiotic idiot who should never have fallen for Louis in the first place--  
“Hi,” A voice says, from behind him.  
Harry turns on the spot.  
Behind him, of course, stands Louis--Harry doesn’t really know who else he was expecting--- the definition of beautiful in the flesh, all blue eyes and crinkly smile and ruffled hair. His cheeks are flared pink by the cold, and so are his eyelids-- and Harry instantly wants to kiss both of them. He can’t help it, it’s just some kind of instinct that has long since rooted itself in his stomach and now he can’t seem to kick it.  
Yep, and there it is. The smile, the Louis smile, filled to the brim of mischief and uncertain promises. And it gets Harry every single time.  
And despite all of this, Harry is almost completely sure that he’ll always want to kiss Louis, always want to be near Louis, no matter the occasion-- and it’s killing him. It’s killing Harry slowly, seeping into his thoughts like an intoxicating drug, blurring out the rest of the world in the same way sleep does-- slowly, and then all at once.  
And that’s why this has to end.  
“About time you showed up.” Harry finds himself saying, harsher than usual, unable to keep the venom that has built up over the months from his voice.  
Louis’ smile falls, and it’s almost instantaneous; the transition from crinkled eyes to sad, miserable Louis. And it’s shocking to watch, because for Harry, Louis has always been the sun, and now, the clouds are tipping over, blocking his light out from the world and descending the place into darkness.  
There’s a brief moment of silence, and when Harry realizes that Louis isn’t going to say anything further, he edges towards him, lets the slush crunch beneath his feet and his heart wander down a path well trodden.  
Because he doesn’t want to do this. He really, really, doesn’t.  
But he’s tired. He’s so bloody tired.  
“What do you want, Lou?” He bites, exhausted, exhaling through his nose so that Louis doesn’t get to see his lips trembling.  
Louis becomes fragile now, lips parting, eyebrows forming a knot on his forehead. “I just...I just want to talk a little. Is that alright?”  
There’s a brief silence. Harry closes his eyes. It’s beginning to snow a little-- or is it rain? He can’t tell over the static in his head.  
Louis is small now, hurt like fine china at the bottom of a rocky freight train. “I…I don’t want to fight anymore.” He’s uncomfortable. Harry can tell. He’s tugging at his denim jacket and looking at his feet.  
Harry hesitates. "We’re not fighting."

It’s now that he realizes that the snow on his face isn’t snow-- it’s one of the many petals from the looming, spider-like trees above, falling down and meshing with the grey sleet under his shoes.  
It’s funny. Harry always thought that rain was the weather for bad news.  
Louis fumbles with the sleeve of his jacket, and then when he looks up, his eyes are that of all of the stars in the sky, a small grin threatening to spill his expression back into happiness. “But you’re avoiding me.”  
Harry looks him right in the eye, and then decides if he’s going to be the bad guy in all of this to Louis, he may as well go the full mile. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am.”  
Louis frowns now, fingers loosening the bundled section of jacket sleeve. “Why?”  
Harry is exasperated now, confusion and frustration both fighting their way to be vocalized in his throat. “Louis-- you--- you know why! We have to give each other space! Those are the rules, right?”  
Louis is quiet now, sinking silently into the hem of his jacket.  
“But they’re not only rules. They’re your rules!” Harry is stepping forwards now, bitterness slipping from his tongue and into the cold, crisp air. “When do I ever get a say in this? I’m giving you your own space, and everything!”  
Louis sinks. “I know...I just...I...I miss you.”  
Harry’s heart melts, but it’s not in the good way anymore. He’s been down this route with Louis so many times, it’s like it’s a bad kind of melt. The melt that burns, the melt that leaves burns inside, not the butterflies.  
Harry fears the butterflies have been burnt away in the struggle.  
“I...I miss our friendship.” Louis mumbles.  
No. Louis can’t do this. This isn’t fair. He can’t come here and say this, so soon after everything that’s just happened--- no. He has no right to do this, not even by a long stretch.  
And you know what? Sometimes the unfairness becomes too much.  
So when Louis glances hopefully up at Harry, silently offering their relationship up to him, like some kind of gift, Harry can only see one way out.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He says.  
And then he leaves, all trembling lips and broken heartstrings, leaving both a confused and broken Louis in his wake.


	11. 4

Chapter 4

 

“I never saw it happening  
I'd given up and given in  
I just couldn't take the hurt again  
What a feeling “  
\- Aqualung, Brighter Than Sunshine

 

February 14, 2014

 

Singapore is beautiful in the morning, or, that what’s Harry has always thought.  
Out of the window, the city shines warm and bright, a mess of blues and greys, stacked together like bricks in a playpen. Roads cut and swerve around each and every building like junction spaghetti, linking every metre of city to the other, and making the whole thing, from afar, look merely like an used hairbrush-- the bristles the skyscrapers, and the discarded hair the roads, splayed and crossed around each skyscraper like tangled earphones.  
Above the crammed cardboard buildings, sprinkles of blueberry cloud dot along the sky like entrails from a broken paintbrush on a calm, pale canvas-- bearing looming promises of rain as well as the appearance of small, foggy snakes. The sky is ombre behind it’s cloudy façade-- a pale, watery blue at the horizon, and increasing in strength as Harry drags his gaze up it’s impressive infiniteness and up to the tips of all the buildings behind the steamed up hotel window.  
All of the boys are sat here, in the large suite, relaxing after the chaotic flight from Japan to Singapore, feet aching, eyes low. Harry takes it as a blessing that they don’t have to perform until the next night, as it feels like both his heart and his body are overworked, sleepy, tired of the constant routines and aching for change. He loves performing more than life itself, don’t get him wrong...it’s just that sometimes….it feels odd.  
It’s been two days since Harry and Louis met in that Japanese park, and ever since, Harry hasn’t been able to calm down. He’s restless, jittery, like a fucking lion in the proverbial fucking cage (it’s a proverb in French, at least. Harry doesn’t really care). And right now, he’s pacing the room, earning equal amounts of curious and concerned looks from Niall and Zayn. Louis and Liam are playing video games in the corner, oblivious to Harry’s distress.  
And finally, it becomes too much. Harry has to speak.  
“Guys,” He says, exasperated, “We should start working on the new album.”  
“Hmm?” Niall replies, nose deep in a newspaper and eyes trickling from side to side on the page.  
“The next album. We should start on the writing.” Harry continues, talking to no one in particular-- “I need the outlet. Everything is so shitty right now.”  
Louis tenses at that, back becoming a lot more prominent through his grey jumper, and Harry has to act like he doesn’t notice.  
Fuck him. Fuck him.  
“I’m pretty sure everyone needs it. You’ve been at each other’s throats the past two days,” He continues, pointing at Liam and Zayn, who both frown his way. “And don’t get me started on you.” He points a finger at Niall, who opens his mouth like a poor little fish out of water.  
“Don’t think, I haven’t noticed. There’s a girl.” Harry rolls his eyes. He doesn’t really know why he’s being this bitter.  
“There’s always a girl.” Zayn adds, smirking and dismissive of Harry’s point.  
“Several ones.” Louis interjects, eyes still on the game.  
Harry ignores him completely.  
“Huuum. Wh-- I mean... Well---” Niall begins to splutter, cheeks red.  
It’s not like Niall to be this incoherent like this, but luckily, like always, Zayn is there to save him.  
“Well, I’ve been working on some things over the break.” He interjects.  
“Good, great. Me too.” Harry responds, and he’s already reaching for his leather notebook from his travel bag. “Niall, get the guitars.”  
Niall complies, relieved to not be the centre of attention anymore, exiting the room in a blur of blue t-shirt and grey jogging bottoms.  
“I came up with some good shit too, right, Zayn?” Liam says, putting his controller down and rushing to his suitcase.  
“Hey!” Louis isn’t happy to be left hanging in the middle of the game.  
Still, he doesn’t seem to want to join the conversation.  
Harry has been ignoring him, and, apparently Louis is intent on doing the same.

**

After a few hours of jamming, phone recordings and mumbled lyrics, Harry can honestly say that it’s not bad at all. Louis barely participates, but he stays in the room with them regardless, moping sourly in the corner.  
So there’s that, Harry guesses, even though he’s being suspiciously quiet. It surprises Harry that nobody brings attention to Louis’ withdrawn attitude, not even Niall, who seems to be making jolly comments every chance he gets. But Harry’s certainly not going to be the one to bring it up.  
“I really like this one,” Harry says, once Niall and Liam finish their giggly remedy of ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’, a song written during their break. “Who is it about?”  
“You.” Niall simply answers.  
Louis chokes on his Dr Pepper.  
Harry supposes there isn’t much to say to that.

**

Coward.  
Bastard.  
Twat.  
Selfish fuck.  
Prick.  
These are only a portion of the many colourful things Harry thinks when Louis oh-so-conveniently chooses Harry’s turn in sharing his material to straight-up leave the room.  
“Sorry lads. I already had plans.” He says, standing, wiping his hands on his jogging bottoms. “We’ll pick this up when I get back, yeah?”  
Harry is a mix of relief and disappointment. He wishes away the tears.  
No, no.  
He’s done crying for this prick.  
He turns to the other three and forces a smile, ignoring Louis.  
“Lads, shall I begin?” Harry ignores the uncomfortable looks the three of them exchange, choosing to instead begin to pluck at the strings of the guitar to fill the silence.  
He plays “Grand Piano”, a song he wrote during the break. It’s really supposed to be accompanied by, well, a piano, but the guitar will do for now.  
Am I just a fool;  
blind and stupid  
for loving you?  
am I just a silly boy?  
so young and naíve to think you were  
the one  
who came to  
take claim of this heart  
cold-hearted shame  
you'll remain  
just a frame  
in the dark

and now the people--  
the people are talking, the people are saying  
that you have been playing my heart like a grand piano…

When the song ends, he really, truly, honestly thinks that he’ll be cheered by the guys. It’s a great song, and Harry, for all of his heartbreak and bitterness, is quite proud of it. It may be about the guy who broke his heart, the guy who fucking taught him how to play piano in the first place, but it’s still a good song.  
But instead of cheers, he’s met with silence.  
Cold, stony silence.  
Liam and Zayn are like frozen in place, their mouths barely open.  
And Niall-- is Niall crying?  
Harry has no idea what to say.  
“So…?” He finally speaks, voice quiet.  
Oh God, it was terrible, wasn’t it? They hated it. They hated it and now they hate Harry.  
But Niall simply rises, removes the guitar from Harry’s hands, and engulfs him in the biggest hug Harry’s ever had. His hands are wrapped around Harry’s back and shoulders, and his mouth is mumbling words like “fucking idiot”, “such a shame”, and “he’ll come around”.  
And Harry’s heart is trembling, it really fucking is trembling, and he’s never felt so heartbroken and loved all at once.  
“It’s beautiful.” Zayn finally says, quietly glancing at Liam, who looks sobered, and insanely silent.  
“Yeah.” He agrees.

**

Harry shared good stuff along the day-- and he’s not afraid to admit it.  
But if he’s going to be candid with himself, there’s one song he hasn’t shared with the others; a song that had formed in his head during this break, a song he didn’t have the courage to write down. A song that doesn’t want to go away as much as he wants it to. A song that’s been screaming to come out of him, bouncing off the walls of his skull and reverberating across his lungs for the majority of the night.  
So, eventually, he gives in, wrenched from lack of sleep and lack of love, and walks down to the lobby. It’s a cosy, well-lit room with a mahogany floor and a huge, swirling carpet in the shape of a hexagon and a large, wooden desk plonked right in the centre.  
The guy at the desk is short, a shaven man with a belly that resembles a bucket of brewer’s slop being poured into the gutter and a moustache that looks so fake and aggressively jelled that Harry decides that it can’t be real. He’s wearing a red tuxedo with a dark blue tie, and shoes that look like they’re made out of thousands of tiny golden buttons.  
“Um, excuse me,” Harry approaches the desk with caution.“Where can I find a piano around here?”  
“Well, there’s one in the hotel bar.” The man replies, voice thick with snotty attitude. “It’s closing right now, but I’m sure we can work something out for you, Mr Styles. Let me make a quick phone call.”  
The clerk leads him to the hotel bar, where busboys and waiters are clearing out the small, intensely lit room, leaving half-finished dishes and half-cleared away tables in their wake. They look immensely terrified. Harry guesses he’d feel embarrassed at the fact that he’s interrupting their work, but he honestly feels like he’s going to explode any minute if he doesn’t get this bloody song out.  
Harry supposes it’s one of the many perks of being a popstar.  
“Take all the time you need, Mr Styles.” The snotty clerk says, bowing so low that his neck becomes a mess of multiple chins.  
“Thank you.”  
When everyone has scampered from the premises, timid faces and inverted eyes-style, he sits in front of the piano. It’s set beside a window looking out onto a huge, sloping garden, and the rain outside is exaggerated by the shadows and scarce lighting seeping through the foliage. In fact, he’s so dark that the only light outside is the light reflecting from the small pools of water forming atop the trees, and if it weren’t for the fact that Harry feels so set in where he is, he’d almost find it scary.  
Lightning dashes across the horizon. Harry lifts up the piano cover, sets his phone on record atop the lid, and reaches to his pocket, where it always is.  
The photograph.  
It's shining in the foggy outside light, traces of white beans etching shadows onto the paper. He absentmindedly reaches out towards it; fingers skimming over the laminate. He misses how simple times used to be-- how plain and clear Louis was before this all happened. Sometimes, he wishes he could dive into the photograph and hide away from the present.  
He slowly reaches towards the keys, familiarizing himself with alien fingertips, and then begins to play, his smoky voice filling the room, his eyes closed. The acoustic is not bad for a place this big.  
“I can't make you love me  
If you don't  
You can't make your heart feel  
Something it won't  
Here in the dark  
These final hours  
I will lay down my heart  
I feel the power but you don't  
No, you don't...”  
At the other end of the room, loud and clear, Harry can just make out the quiet, blurred tones of the television, left on by the waiters in their haste in leaving the room to him. He stops playing to listen to the headline, spoken loudly by a news anchor in an excruciatingly-tight green suit.  
“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s Valentine’s day, love birds!” He beams, but to Harry it feels like screaming. “It’s pouring outside, so I’d advise you to stay loved up in a blanket for two for the night!”  
Oh.  
Harry had forgotten the date, but the reminder is not welcome.  
A sudden burst of tears surprises him, creeping up from all four corners of his stomach, causing his whole body to shake and convulse and a pathetic dribble of tears making their way down his face. His cheeks are red and swollen, his fingertips are clutched tightly in his lap.  
And then, his head is falling, touching his knees, shaking up and down as he lets out deep, loud, echoing sobs that shake him all the way down to his fucking calves and back.  
He’s beloved by millions of people-- but never before has he felt so alone.  
Sat by himself in this large, shadowing room, where nobody can hear him or see him, he cries until there are no more tears to shed. He cries until the growling sounds he makes hurt his throat. He cries like a wounded beast left in the middle of the forest to die.  
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.


	12. 6

Chapter 6

 

“I've been burdened with blame trapped in the past for too long, I'm moving on”  
― Rascal Flatts, I’m Moving On

 

March, 2014

 

The morning after failed songwriter Louis Tomlinson realizes his life is in shambles and that he should probably stay away from Harry Styles, he takes a bath. He climbs into the 5-star, golden-esque tub as soon as the water gets hot, and he sits and watches with a curiously blank look on his face as the water overtakes him and inches, bit by bit, up his legs.  
He does recognize, at this moment, albeit faintly, that he’s too long, and too big, for this bathtub— and, with all of his tattoos and leg hair, he looks like a mostly grown person playing at being a kid.  
It’s funny. Sometimes, Louis feels that way about his life too.  
As the water begins to splash over his skinny, vaguely muscular stomach, he begins to mull things over. From where he’s sat right now, life looks especially dim-- and yeah, sure, he’s rich, and there’s always going to be people in the world who assume rich people don’t have problems-- but the truth, Louis reckons, sitting in the bath, is that you can’t buy solutions to problems.  
For example, a way to figure out the mess inside his head, or a way to feel like his life has a purpose, or a moral. He can’t buy that.  
He takes a deep breath and slides down, immersing his head underneath the warm, vaguely soapy waves. I am crying, he thinks, opening his eyes to stare through the soapy, stinging water. I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it’s impossible to tell because I’m fucking underwater.  
But he isn’t crying.  
Curiously, he feels too depressed to cry. Too hurt. It feels as if Harry has gored out the part of his heart that he needs to cry-- and Louis doesn’t like it. Not one bit.  
And Louis not liking something is a big thing, you know? Because he can deal with a lot. And get used to a shit-ton too.  
In fact, Louis is used to a lot of things, now that he thinks about it.  
Fame. Stardom. Cameras everywhere he goes, a sense of recognition everytime he looks at the crowd, never having two minutes of peace. Niall being an arse? Definitely. Zayn being a stoner? Absolutely. Liam being fragile and too precious for this world? Certainly.  
But one thing he’s not quite used to is Harry being this distant. This cruel. This….ignorant.  
He thought it’d wash off after they left Singapore, that Harry would eventually cave and smile at one of Louis’ jokes or sneak a peek at Louis’ arse in the changing rooms, but apparently, he was wrong. And if there’s one thing Louis hates...it’s being wrong. Or hated. Or ignored.  
He dips his head back up, above the suds, and watches as his pale, gasping reflection becomes meshed with all of the bubbles. Sometimes, he really hates being rich, because back in the day, he’d dream about having baths like this, with the floor made of marble, and the ceiling intertwined with the most unique and artistic patterns. Because now, it seems to mean nothing.  
And now, sometimes, he really hates people like Harry Styles.  
And it’s not as if Louis doesn’t miss him, because fucking hell, of course he does. He misses the pale green eyes, the pink smirk, the loud laugh that’s gone so quickly but stays so long. He misses the way Harry walks, the dimples on either side of his cheeks, the way his fingers fumble with his rings, the way he makes sudden proclamations like “my thumbs are two different lengths!” or “this shoe looks like my aunt’s old car”, and then expects everyone to understand the reasons behind them.  
(Louis smiles in the tub just thinking about him, the idiot.)  
But it’s not just those things he misses. Louis misses his voice, his smell, his hair, his odd tendencies, his...everything.  
And Louis is not sure he’ll ever get used to missing somebody’s everything.  
It’s just that Harry is so--- is so---- selfish. And stubborn. And annoying.  
Once they arrived in the Philippines, Louis was sure that he’d give in, that Harry would come back, somehow, shower Louis with attention and apologies and care. And Louis, considering he’s been away from Harry for so long that he’s having slight withdrawal symptoms, wouldn’t mind that at all.  
But there was nothing, no glances, no mentions, no contact during shows, no hand in the group hug-- nothing. Harry Styles is doing his absolute best (and succeeding, mind you) at pissing off Louis Tomlinson.  
Now, they’re in Bangkok. And Harry is still being-- and excuse Louis’ French here-- but an absolute, undeniably, unconditionally annoying little cock who wants to make Louis’ life hell.  
And maybe, if Harry was ignoring Niall, or Zayn, or Liam, it wouldn’t matter so much. Because they apparently don’t care what people think, because all they need to feel whole is support from the fans, and music to immerse themselves in. Well, Louis isn’t like that. He’s used to being the centre of attention, and he’s used to being a social creature. He likes being loved. He likes being listened to, and he likes being right.  
And none of them-- even excluding Harry-- are letting him be any of these things. The other three are kind of shunning him, politely declining Fifa rounds, saying that they always have better things to do than hang out with him. Which is complete and utter bullshit, of course.  
Since when did Liam play golf? And Zayn write so much? And Niall like making shitty demos?  
And since when, in all of what’s good and holy, did the other fourths of One Direction suddenly decide that they favoured Harry more than Louis?  
Louis sticks his foot up in the tub, watches the water rush off it like it, too, is afraid to hang out with him, or is rushing off to play golf, or write music, or make shitty demos, or to praise Harry Styles for all that is good in this world---  
\---Fuck.  
Louis refuses to be the bad guy in all of this. He tried, didn’t he? He told Harry he missed their friendship in Japan, didn’t he? It’s not his bloody fault if Harry can’t learn to separate love and a good fuck, for fuck’s sake.  
So yeah, it’s safe to say that Louis kind of resents Harry right now. He’s not the only one who could use a friend right now, and no, he’s not in the mood to write, or play golf, or make shitty demos with his so called “bandmates”. He’s all over the place, if he’s going to be completely honest.  
And sometimes, it becomes really too much to cope with.  
So he does what any sensible popstar would do in this situation, he supposes.  
He brings his childhood friends on the tour.

**

 

“Wakey, Wakey!”  
The incessant knocking is hindering Harry’s every effort of drifting back to sleep. He burrows deeper into the covers, eyes still clamped shut, blindly searching for a rogue pillow to hurl at the nuisance. His body rolls to the left, suddenly very warm and sticky, and his toes come in contact with the end of the bed. He’s halfway down the mattress and comfortable.  
“C’mon, Stylesey-boy!” Niall claps, arms above his head.  
Or, at least, he was comfortable.  
“Go away.”  
“Come on, we have things to do.”  
“What the fuck would I have to do this early?” Harry answers, voice laced with grumpiness.  
“Dude, it’s 3p.m.”  
Harry sits up at that, duvets becoming wrinkled as he suddenly returns to life. He doesn’t reckon he’d drank that much last night-- but apparently, his pounding headache begs to differ.  
Just as the sunlight is about to hit his eyes, Niall begins to clap again, and the sound’s like someone throwing tens upon tens of rocks at his skull at once.  
“Okay! Jesus fuck! M’up, M’up!”  
“Great! So today is the day I draw the line.” Niall says, crossing his arms and looking at Harry as if he’s just committed a crime. “You’ve been moping for far too long and it’s time to move on.”  
Move on. Huh. What a foreign concept.  
“Look, I know we don’t talk much about this shit. You know, feelings.” Niall makes a disgusted face and sits on the end of Harry’s bed. “But I hope you know you can always talk to me. And I want you to tell me what’s wrong, okay? I don’t want you to be this fuckin’ sad all of the time.”  
“Okay.” Harry blinks, wiping the sleep from his eye.  
“Okay?” Niall repeats, not believing that Harry agreed.  
Harry exhales loudly. And then, he closes his eyes.  
“I’m in love with Louis Tomlinson.”  
“No shit, Sherlock,” Niall says, shaking his head with a laugh, “I mean, tell me something I don’t know.”  
So Harry tells him everything. Well, not everything, but the big things. The important things.  
The things that matter.  
When it’s over, the sun is a lot lower in the sky, and Harry feels a lot more like falling asleep than continuing the conversation. And Niall, as it turns out, is really not the guy to ask for advice on these type of things, even if Harry trusts him more than anything.  
“Sounds to me like you need to move on.” Niall concludes, a small smile on his face.  
“But--” Harry is a little alarmed at that. At the bottom of his heart he knows Niall’s right, but still...it’s a bitter pill to swallow. A huge pill, to be exact.  
“Look, the way I see it, Louis is not ready. Not ready for this, not ready for you.” Niall puts his two hands in front of him, like soft weighing scales. “Plus, he’s with Eleanor, should I remind you?”  
“Well it didn’t stop him before…” Harry snaps, bitter.  
“Yeah, well, regardless. You’re not well right now. He’s not either. What do people say? If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, right?”  
“I guess.”  
“I was hoping you would say that.” Niall answers, mischief written into his face like a script, and then, he begins outlining to Harry his grand plan.

**

As he’s putting his clothes on, throwing black blazers over white shirts, Harry can’t believe he let Niall put him up to this. A date. A fucking blind date. With a guy. In Bangkok, of all places.  
“Trust me, he’s perfect for you.” Niall keeps on saying.  
Harry can only hope he’s right.

**

It’s nine p.m. when Harry opens his hotel door, and it’s nine p.m. when Harry, for not the first time today, thinks to himself--  
\---you’ve got to be kidding me.  
Because standing in front of his door, ready to pick him up in a blue jacket and beige chinos, stands Greg James. And not only is it Greg James, but it’s a very spruced-up, very attempted-handsome looking Greg James, with short hair attentively stooped up into a quiff, small, pink lips nervously pinned into a smile, hazel eyes blinking at a rate more regular than usual and a shaking bouquet of roses in his hand.  
And Harry, for one, has no idea what to say.  
“Hi.” says Greg, sheepishly. “I hope it’s okay it’s me.”  
“Ummm, Hello.” Harry answers. He’s staring at the roses.  
At Harry’s words, Greg instantly whirrs to life, holding out the roses to him, and almost hiding behind them as Harry reaches out and takes the flurry of red with tentative, numb hands.  
Because this doesn’t mean anything to him. It probably does to Greg, but to him… Nothing.  
“Look,” Greg knots his fingertips together, visibly nervous. “If you’re not okay with this, I can totally leave, Niall and Nick thought it could be a good idea...”  
Harry is still silent.  
“God, I’m leaving.” Greg says, extremely nervous and red all at once.  
He looks like he’s about to melt.  
“Wait!” Harry shouts to the retreating figure, still clasping the roses. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”  
Greg stops walking, and turns back, attentive, to face Harry.  
And Harry looks at him, and he thinks: do I really want to do this?  
He ponders his options. He’s dressed up, for one, and holding a bundle of roses, for second...plus... he saw Louis going out with Cal and Oli earlier…  
Ah, fuck it.  
Since when has Harry ever had the chance to do something romantic in the past four years aside from Louis?  
He quickly corrects himself. “No, I mean, it’s a pleasant surprise, but I didn’t think it would be someone I already knew, you know?”  
He laughs to cover up his guilt, but there’s something in the corner of his mind screaming: LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR--  
Greg’s face lights up. “Well… I guess… that’s fine, then! Let’s go!”

 

**

 

And...Well...the date is not awkward, per say.  
For starters, the restaurant is beautiful, and the view-- holy shit, the view.  
The view might just be the best part of this whole thing.  
The Grand Standard restaurant is located on the top of a huge hotel complex and from where they sit, on a table for two looking out on the great, sprawled city of Bangkok, Harry feels as if he can see everything, from the tiny kitchens working overtime long into the night, to the insanely rich moguls driving from place to place in moonlit limousines, to the late-night buskers who still haven’t gone home.  
The sunset, as always, is undeniably beautiful-- lazy peppermint sinking into a dark red sinking into all of the violets and lavenders and peaches inbetween. Eventually, the night settles on black, painting everything up into a dark, buzzing canvas littered with infinity, painting everything below into pinprick-yellow marked cities, glowing gorgeous with all of it’s urbanicity. It stretches it’s light way up, up to the tip of The Grand Standard, where the lights pop up all around them with a suddenness that causes Harry to exhale a little and the candle between them to flicker.  
And the restaurant itself is laid out ever so brilliantly-- a round, sloping centre, armed with various trees and lights and napkins and stairs, surrounded by levels upon levels upon levels of painstakingly-square tables draped in violet-- surrounded by steely, elegantly-carved wooden chairs, surrounded by a loop of binoculars and railings that lead out into the city and so far, far beyond.  
And it should be perfect. This should be it; this should be romance.  
But somehow, it’s just not. And Harry knows the problem. The problem is sitting right in front of him, with bright eyes, a lopsided smile and a tenacity to talk about work a little too much.  
“I wasn’t here by chance,” Greg says, talking like it’s the most interesting thing in the world-- “Because, you know, flying around the world for a date? Not cool.”  
He chuckles, and Harry tries his best to play along with it. But it’s evident that he fails, as Greg seems to notice, and instead, decides to dive right into the heart of his story.  
“So what I’m doing is basically getting the culture of each corner of the world, and reaching in and delving out the centre of the place-- what makes it it, if you catch my drift.” He says. “And then, I take the music, the culture, the life of the place, and I play it on UK Radio. Let the rest of the world see what’s going on so far away, you know?”  
“That sounds...interesting.” Harry says.  
“It really is.” Greg swallows a huge bite of his Pad Kaprao and then smiles. “You know, it’s really been a blast so far. I feel like I’m connecting so many people at once with the world’s culture.”  
“I bet.” Harry takes a sip at his wine. He hasn’t eaten much tonight, which doesn’t surprise him.  
But hey, when do the heartbroken ever have an appetite?  
“Aaaand,” Greg continues, lifting the mood, “I’m thinking that it’s not too different from what you do. You know, with Louis and that.”  
Harry frowns, panic rising in his stomach. “What?”  
“You know?” Greg is cheery. “The band thing. Connecting people with music, and all that.”  
“Oh,” Harry instantly calms down, “Oh. Yeah. Course.”  
And maybe, he’s just a little put out, because Greg should be perfect.  
He laughs at all the right places, nods at all of the right times, and he has a little twinkle in his eyes that’s not bad to look at.  
And-- fuck-- he’s trying, okay?  
Harry knows he’s staring at this point, instead of actually listening to what Greg’s saying, and that it’s probably cruel to give him the wrong impression...But he can’t help it.  
Hazel eyes meet his. Wrong.  
Long legs bump against the bottom of the table. Wrong.  
He runs his fingers through short, pale honey hair. Wrong.  
He compliments a woman walking past on her ‘otherworldly fashion’. Wrong.  
He’s not Louis. Wrong.  
Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrong.  
And he knows he shouldn’t be comparing every other man in his life to Louis. But he can’t help it, partially because there really, is no other comparison, and partially, because-  
Louis is the man.  
He just….is.  
And yet, hours later, he still finds himself having had quite a good time with Greg. They’re walking back to Harry’s room, and Greg’s still smiling, being-oh-so polite, as always, and Harry is desperately trying to think of a way to let him down gently.  
But then, he hears an accolade of cheers and drunken singing from behind them, and the whole world goes to shit.  
Louis. And his friends.  
Harry glances their way, notices Louis on a complete, oblivious path past Harry’s door, panics, looks at Greg, and then thinks---  
Fuck it.  
It’s mean. And it’s resentful. And Harry hates himself for it.  
But right there and then, he kisses Greg.  
It’s not...passionate, or anything. Neither of them push it further, and for a few seconds, it’s just a firm lips against lips.  
But then, Louis and friends pass them, and then they suddenly hear a cheering noise, and Greg takes this as encouragement, and he reaches up to put his hands in Harry’s hair-  
No.  
No.  
This is wrong.  
Harry pulls back suddenly, short for air, and turns to look at the cheering. And, of course, it’s Louis’ two drunken friends cheering, telling Greg to ‘go for the kill’ and all of that, but Louis is just...staring.  
Just like that. Staring. Eyes vacant, mouth pursed, that kind of thing.  
And when they make eye contact, Harry can feel his stomach constrict, like a huge fist taking ahold of his insides.  
And when Louis guides his friends into his room, still coldly glaring their way, he feels like a sword has been plunged through his gut.  
Because he feels guilty. And he feels dirty-- and he just feels….wrong.  
Harry turns back to Greg, who looks half confused, half excited. He lets go of Greg’s collar, and takes a step back.  
It’s times like these that Harry feels like crying. A lot. He’s not often one to lose his cool like that.  
“I’m sorry.” He says, lips feeling tight, and cold.  
Greg is just standing there, silently searching for an answer.  
God. Harry is such a bad fucking person.  
“I’m trying to get over someone but I guess... I’m not ready.” Harry explains. “Yet.”  
Greg glances at Louis’ door once, and simply says-- “I understand.”  
“I’m sorry I used you like this.” Harry is solemn now. Quiet. “You don’t deserve it. You’re so nice, and---Fuck, I’m so sorry--”  
“Hey. It’s okay.” Greg is smiling now, sadness ebbing over the green in his eyes. “Don’t be.”  
Harry is silent now. Foreboding.  
“Seriously. It’s fine.” He says. “And, anyway. It’s not everyday I get to make out with a popstar, you know?”

 

**

Bang. Bang. Bang.  
Harry jolts to a start, breathing ragged, loose sheets falling from the bed. It’s five a.m, way too early to get up, way too early to be feeling this way. Who the fuck is knocking at this hour?  
“Open up!” A voice yells, and Harry instantly feels a jolt of recognition.  
Because of course. Of course it’s Louis.  
He’s still knocking on the door, probably drunk out of his mind, and definitely on his way to waking the neighbours up if he carries on like this.  
More banging.  
“I know you’re in there, lover boys.” Louis snarks.  
Harry gets instantly angry at the implication that he’s in bed with Greg. He gets out of the bed, letting the duvets spill onto the floor, crosses the room, and opens the door open wide.  
Louis looks like he was about to barge himself against the door, so when it’s taken away, he loses his balance and falls to the floor, legs sprawled at Harry’s feet.  
He looks so small, so...tired. Dark rings give way to tense, angry eyes and a trembling chin to wavering, desperate lips. If Harry is to be honest, Louis looks like he’s on the edge of insanity.  
“What do you want, Lou?” Harry asks, voice cold and whispered.  
He feels like he’s having déjà vu.  
“Where is he? Is he here?” Louis asks, scrambling up. His tone is in that of a frenzy.  
“Shhhh. You’re going to wake up the entire floor.” Harry says, and before he can stop himself, he’s tugging Louis inside the room and shutting the door. "Jesus fuck."  
Louis appears instantly disoriented once he's inside, his eyes blinking erratically at the change of setting, his frown lowering once he sees the messy, sprawled sheets, the lack of Greg in the bed.  
“Wait. You’re alone.” Louis says, puzzled.  
“Sorry to disappoint.” Harry says, bitterly. “He did leave the money on the bedside table, though.”  
And Louis has the fucking nerve to look at the bedside table.  
He’s drunk, but still, the one act is enough to tip Harry over the edge, all of the pent up anger and frustration thrashing and curving from his mouth at Louis before he can stop himself.  
“You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that? Why are you doing this to me? Why would you care if I sleep with the entire Radio 1 team? This is none of your fucking business, you fucking closet case! You rejected me, remember? You decided for the both of us! You didn’t want me. You have some fucking nerve, you know that? And what were you going to do if you found Greg in here, huh? Tell me! What the fuck were you going to do?”  
Louis looks wounded, his eyes on the ground. Guilty. Small. Silly.  
Harry runs his hands through his hair, exasperated, chest moving up, down, up, down. “I’m just trying to move on, Lou. Why won’t you let me?”  
“I… I…” Louis looks like a bird trying to get out of a cage. His fists are clenched, his jaw trembling, his shoulders hunched in.  
“You..? You..?” Harry doesn’t know what he’s expecting, exactly.  
But whatever he’s expecting doesn’t come. Louis’ jaw stills, his eyes snap shut, and his lips tremble up and down like he’s trying to hold in a scream.  
Harry lets out a long, shaky sigh, and asks: “What do you want from me?”  
Louis ignores the question, opens his eyes, and looks down at the floor, up at the ceiling, at the walls, anywhere but Harry-- “I’m not gay.”  
“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” Harry snarks.  
And at that, Louis seems to completely lose his shit. He rushes towards Harry, banging his fists on Harry’s collarbones in a frenzy, and begins yelling-- “I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you so much!”  
Tears are rushing down his cheeks, and then he’s shoving Harry away, drunk out of his ass, causing Harry to stumble back a bit. Louis then begins to clutch at himself, fisting his own clothes to his chest, dribble falling from his mouth, his arms shaky and his back hunched.  
“Fuckfuckfuckufkcufkc!” He spits, face contorted, hands trembling. “I hate you!”  
“No, you don’t.” Harry steps forward, face concerned. “You don’t hate me.”  
Louis pushes him back again, tears everywhere, his face a red and shaking mess. “I hate you.”  
“No, you don’t.” Harry shakes his head, quieter now, taking Louis by the neck and engulfing him in a hug. It’s half to avoid being pushed again, half to console Louis, who’s both trying to get out of the embrace and using Harry’s bare shoulder as a tissue.  
Louis’ legs give out after a few seconds of struggling, falling into Harry’s arms, clutching at his shoulders, his back, his neck-- just, anything.  
Anything to hold onto.  
Harry doesn’t let go, he just holds on to Louis, puts his arms around his shoulders and back, steadies them until they sink to the floor, leaning against the wall, Louis’ sobs extremely loud and incredibly close.  
After a while, they quieten, and then stop all together, and Harry closes his eyes tight as he feels Louis slowly, ever so slowly, fall asleep with his face in the crook of Harry’s neck.  
“It’s okay if you do for now.” Harry whispers, and then he’s crying, hand over his face, unable to keep quiet anymore.  
It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.  
When Harry wakes up just a few hours later, he’s achy, on the floor and very much alone.

**

It’s raining in the early afternoon; grey, abysmal static falling down like a curtain all around Bangkok and casting it’s vibrant, bright streetlife in varying shades of black and white. Harry watches, gloomily, from the hotel restaurant's front window, as the rain thrashes down on the topsoil outside and makes him feel cold all over-- as if all the warmth in him has risen, sunken into the fan lazily completing laps above their heads, and escaped only to be dampened by the neverending outside.  
Niall, from opposite him, clatters his fist down on the table, causing all of the cutlery to jolt and leap from the table. “What the fuck, man! Greg was perfect!”  
Harry nods, emotionless, letting a sigh escape his lips. There’s a bowl of half-eaten cornflakes in front of him.  
Harry is sure he’s never felt so unhungry in his life.  
“I handpicked him for you, you know!” Niall slaps his hand on his knee. “Out of hundreds of contestants! It was practically the fucking X-factor there!”  
Harry smiles at that, parched lips parting.  
“Nevermind.” Niall sighs, as if he has lost one battle in the war, but he is yet to give up. “I have a long list, my friend. Who wouldn’t want to bang you?”  
Harry sombers again at that. “I can think of someone.”  
Niall rolls his eyes.  
Harry sighs, the image of Louis in his arms last night still fresh in his mind. “Niall...I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But I’m just not ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be. It’s just...not over yet.”  
Niall looks doubtful, blonde eyebrows raised in a frown, but Harry never been so sure of something in his entire life.

**

Harry doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting after that exhausting night with Louis, but it certainly wasn’t this.  
Was he expecting Louis to have some kind of epiphany? Maybe. Did it happen. No.  
In fact, Louis’ behavior has been worse than erratic as the Asian tour dates have come and gone. And when Harry means worse, he means worse worse.  
“Was he out again last night?” Liam asks Niall, while they’re in the prep room, buried in song lyrics and pen ink.  
“Man, was he drunk.” Niall answers, continuously glancing at Harry to make sure he’s not listening. “He went back to his room with at least two girls.”  
Harry is staring at his notebook, pretending that he’s not listening.  
(He is.)  
He has headphones pressed in his ears, his legs crossed, and a huge knot of guilt forming in his stomach.  
Zayn is sitting next to him, a cup of coffee balanced on his knee, a small frown on his face.  
“He’ll be okay, right, Haz?” He makes his concern known. “You’d tell us if we needed to worry?”  
Harry doesn’t want to lie, so he doesn’t answer. Instead he says:-  
“Let’s go over the chorus again.”

**

San Francisco. Start of the American tour. They’re on stage, surrounded by thousands of little lights, the noise deafening, ear-splitting screams cutting through the crisp, evening air and being heard for miles around the stadium.  
“Good evennnnning San Diego!” Louis swaggers to the front stage, mic pressed to dry, chapped lips, eyes tired and face pale.  
He looks high out of his mind-- and everyone knows it. Harry can read the crowd like a book, and right now, they’re confused as fuck, banners and posters lowered, screams paused, excitement put on hold.  
And this isn’t good. Harry knows it isn’t good. It sits in his stomach like an undigested meal.  
“We’reeeeeee verrry happy to be here tonight, it’s so good to be back to Ammmerica!” Louis laughs, slurring slightly, stumbling over one of the headlights.  
They’re only five minutes into the concert. The rest of the boys, including Harry, are a mixture of mad and frustrated. Louis, with all of his erratic behaviour and mood swings, has always drawn the line when it comes to live performances.  
Now, it seems, they don’t even have that assurance to lean on.  
At the halfway point, they take a two minute pit-stop at the toilets. While waiting, Harry sees Zayn over in the corner, clearly lecturing Louis on something--  
But there’s no reply.  
No fight.  
No retaliation.  
No nothing.  
Louis simply hums, bats his eyelashes and walks away.  
Harry feels an unpleasant lurch sound in his stomach. Three months ago, Louis would have been at Zayn’s throat for that attitude.  
Then again, Louis would never have been in this state in the fucking first place to begin with.  
**

It’s got to be their worst performance yet, and that’s saying something, considering all of the times Harry and Louis have been at each other’s necks over the past year, or forgotten song lyrics, or had voice breaks because the songs just hit too close to home,  
But now, all of that doesn’t seem to matter. All Harry seems to care about right now is him, the boy with the blue eyes and the pale face and the drunken footsteps, and all of the uncountable fans that they’ve let down tonight. There’s no hiding shame like that, shame that curls up in your stomach and stays there, shame that creeps up your throat and makes everything feel taught and small.  
They’re all in the green room now, aside from Louis. The tour manager has already finished his tirade of yelling, it seems, and is sitting in the corner, hands over his face. But the other three are not even close from finishing their rants, complaining and whispering about Louis with increasing levels of anger and disappointment ebbing from their mouths.  
But Harry’s not listening. He’s sat away from them, hands folded in his lap, trying to pinpoint where it all went to shit; trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with Louis, or where he is, or what he’s doing--  
and it’s killing him. Ever so slowly, it’s making Harry’s head turn inside out.  
So he knows he has to find him, knows that he has to leave, knows he has to sort out this shit out before it messes up his head. So he gets up, exits the room, and walks down the hallway.  
It’s quiet, but he can see several crew members down the corridors, chatting in hushed tones about the performance, quieting once they realize Harry’s in earshot. They smile sympathetically at him as he passes.  
He opens the dressing room door. Nothing.  
The catering room. Nothing.  
The balcony. Nothing.  
The stairway. Nothing.  
And then, he finds Alberto in front of the toilets.  
Harry feels like he’s going to be sick, and hopes to God, as he approaches the toilet door, that Louis is not shooting up in there. Louis was never into those kinds of things, but fuck, he’s so different now.  
And tonight...well...Harry is panicked. He can’t be sure.  
“Don’t go in there, kid.” Alberto says, shaking his head. “What’s in there ain’t fit for work.”  
Harry ignores him, pressing open the door, not hearing the sigh Alberto lets out as he egresses from the hallway into the bathroom, not hearing the thousands of voices in his head telling him NO, NO NO-- not listening to anything but his beating heart, which trembles in the presence of the person who belongs there.  
The person, who, at this moment, is also waist-deep in a girl on the bathroom sink.  
She’s bent right over, her skirt lifted all the way up to her waist, her hands clasping onto the sink’s taps, and Louis’ thighs pressed right to hers. He’s half-dressed, his jeans resting on his ankles, his hands on her arse, and as his head snaps around, eyes wide, meeting Harry’s in the doorway, the world seems to freeze.  
Because--- shit.  
Louis’ lips part, like he’s about to say something, but Harry’s already gone, door slamming behind him, rushing from the scene with a crumpled mouth and shut, swollen eyes.

**

It’s late in the morning when Harry finally leaves his bed, the warm sunlight kissing everything and making the hotel seem...almost angelic. It shines in watery filters across the floor, making the blue carpet shine green, casting the paint on the walls a deep orange. As he sits up in front of the blinds, he watches as his shadow is projected on the floor-- continuous stripes broken by the steady outline of a boy who cares too much and too frequently.  
He cried all night, and he’s not going to deny that now, as he meets his own gaze in the hotel mirror-- and with his dark red eye bags, chapped lips, and red nose, he realizes he couldn’t even if he wanted to.  
And, despite all of his trials and tribulations, he can’t deny the truth with Louis, either. Is he heartbroken? God, yes. Is he mad as fuck? Sure. Is he ever going to let go? Unlikely.  
So he takes in the truth with a fluttering heartbeat, a pain in his head, and the unwavering urge to write songs. He supposes, after all of the heartache he’s been through, he deserves a little bit of inspiration.

**

For the next show, at least, Louis is very much sober. So there’s that.  
He keeps sending pained glances Harry’s way, and Harry, for one, has no idea on how to react. He sits on the edge of the stage for the majority of the night, bated breath held tight to chest, and waiting for his time to come. He’s intent on playing a song tonight, having informed the others that he wanted to go and start showing their new material with the fans.  
And Louis, as of now, is still unaware. Harry tries not to catch his eye once a huge piano gets rolled onto centre stage, but, as always, trips and falls into those bright blue eyes.  
It’s a quick glance: nothing more.  
But it’s enough.  
“Seattleeeeee!” Harry holds the mic to his mouth to hide his embarrassment. “I have a little surprise for you.”  
The crowd goes crazy, hands outstretched, screams everywhere to be seen and found.  
“We’ve been working relentlessly on the new album, as you may know.” Harry says, a small smile on his lips. “And I have a special song to share with you tonight-- so special, in fact, that none of the rest of the lads have heard it yet.”  
“It’s true.” Liam says. “It might be awful.”  
Harry laughs, sitting down at the piano.  
“Terrible.” says Zayn. He sits down atop the piano’s lid, gangly legs tipping from the side.  
“Not even fit for a bloody commercial, even.” Niall laughs. “But we have faith in you, Haz.”  
Louis stays silent. He’s deathly pale.

“So if you're mad, get mad, don't hold it all inside,  
Come on and talk to me now.  
Hey, what you got to hide?  
I get angry too, well, I'm a lot like you.  
When you're standing at the crossroads,  
And don't know which path to choose,  
Let me come along, 'cause even if you're wrong

I'll stand by you,  
I'll stand by you, won't let nobody hurt you,  
I'll stand by you.”

At the end chorus, the fans join in, catching the drift of the song, and then suddenly, the world is a blur of loud cheers and pink fairy lights.  
Harry goes to sleep feeling better than ever that night, finding it easy both to sleep and to rest with his decision to stand by Louis: no matter what.  
The following morning, Louis has a fresh compass tattoo on his arm, obscured by layers and layers of cling film.  
Harry can’t find the heart, nor the time, to comment.


	13. 8

Chapter 8

 

“With these hungry eyes  
One look at you and I can't disguise  
I've got hungry eyes  
I feel the magic between you and I”  
\- Patrick Swayze - Hungry Eyes

March, 2014

 

Louis is staring. Harry can feel it.  
Everywhere he goes, he can feel blue eyes on him, constantly watching, neverending. But it’s not want or desire like it usually is, it’s more a puppy-following-his-master kind of look. Like he’s waiting for instructions And even though Louis seems less tormented since Harry sung “I’ll stand by you”, it’s still very unlike Louis to act this way.  
But, nonetheless, gradually, and naturally, they fall into old patterns like they were never apart. There’s laughter and fun. There’s closeness and intimacy. And, soon enough, Louis is himself again, the beast of his self hatred asleep for now, buried beneath layers and layers of reckless joy.  
He’s better for now, but if Harry has learned anything about Louis, it’s the fact that he’s easily triggered...

**

Baltimore.  
Harry’s sat on the sofa, watching the sky through the roof window, watching the white, rocky hills of future rain clamber and obscure up the blue. Beyond them, trickles of cloud sausages ark way up into the sky, passages of flights long past, planes long sunken into the horizon, people escaping the usual and others reunited with loved ones….  
Where he is, the room is quiet, and the boys even more so. They’re either sprawled across the carpet in deep sleep after their long flight, or listening to music in the corner, and moments like these are so rare, that Harry would be more than happy to just sit here and savour the moment.  
But despite the silence, he finds he can’t.  
Because Niall is sat in the chair opposite, legs bouncing up and down, eyes small and timid, elbows withdrawn into lap.  
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.  
His foot is clattering down onto the marble. And it’s driving Harry insane.  
“What’s wrong, Ni?” He eventually caves, speaking quiet as to not wake up the others.  
“Me?” Niall’s face is blank.  
Harry snorts. “Yes, you. What’s the matter?”  
Niall blinks, stands, and then grabs Harry’s arm.  
“Um...I’m gonna need some help with something.” He sounds agitated.  
“Anything.” Harrys says, truthful, standing and letting Niall lead him outside.  
When the door shuts, Niall exhales, running quick hands across his hair, shuffling his feet from side to side. Harry’s surprised that the soles of his shoes haven’t been worn out of existence at the rate he’s going.  
“Ummm, I don’t know how to say this.” Niall eventually says. His eyes are darting everywhere.  
“Words would be good.” Harry huffs, a small grin curving onto his lips.  
“Don’t mock me.” Niall says. “Listen. This is serious. It’s about the ‘thing’ I don’t do.”  
“You mean feelings.”  
Niall nods.  
“What about them?”  
Niall is silent. Harry sighs, probably realizing he’s going to have to help out or they’re going to end up standing there all day.  
“There’s a girl.” He guesses.  
Niall nods.  
“You like her.”  
Niall nods again.  
“You’re seeing her.”  
Niall shakes his head.  
“Wow. That’s a plot twist if I’ve ever seen one.” Harry gushes.  
Niall looks irritated, eyebrows constricting into a knot.  
“Okay. So what’s the problem?” Harry crosses his arms.  
“I think I’m being friendzoned.” Niall looks a little desperate.  
Harry stifles a laugh. Because Niall Horan? Friendzoned?  
“Her name is Samantha. She’s nice and funny and caring and witty and just--- just-- wonderful. She’s taking a year off uni to travel the world and we cross paths sometimes.” He reaches into his pocket. “Look! She just texted me.”  
“Niallerrrrr! Your favorite traveller is in Baltimore too :-) going out tonight with some friends. Join us!! I missed U and I want to know everything about Justin Bieber.”  
Harry squints at the screen. “I really don’t see where the problem is Ni. She’s here, she wants to see you, I mean---”  
“Did you read the part about Justin?”  
“Maybe she’s just a fan?” Harry asks.  
“Maybe.” Niall doesn’t look convinced.  
But either way, any girl who can make Niall look and lose his cool like that is a girl Harry wants to meet.  
“Will you come with me tonight and meet her?” Niall bites his lip. “I want a second opinion.”  
“Sure.” Harry shrugs.  
“Fuck fuck. She’s calling me! What do I do? What do I do?” Niall nearly drops his phone out of shock, eyes wide, fingers jelly.  
Harry can’t fight a laugh this time. “Answer it, silly.”  
“Saaaam! Hello! Yes, got your text, yeah, needed to, um, you know, clear my schedule a bit--”  
He’s going back inside the room now, struggling and failing to keep his cool. Harry, beneath his own laughter, just makes out a -- “Do you mind if a friend comes with me tonight?”-- before the door closes shut and his voice is muffled by the glass.

**  
Niall sings “Girl Almighty” at the concert that night. Interesting.  
**

Harry doesn’t have to tell Louis that he’s going out-- not even by a long stretch. But still, he feels like he should, like he has some duty to fill out to him. Louis is still fragile in Harry’s eyes, only just building his life up again, setting things right. And he feels like something, no matter how small, kept from him could rock the boat and scatter the jigsaw pieces out to sea.  
“I’m going out with Niall tonight.” He says, once they’re in the green room.  
“Yeah baby!” Niall shouts from the other side of the room.  
(It’s funny what a crush can do to you.)  
“It’s okay, I have plans anyways.” Louis says, voice soft, as he removes his sound system and gives it over to the staff.  
“Oh yeah, with who?” Harry is just curious, taking out his own sound system and adjusting his t-shirt.  
But the answer that he gets is unexpected, sudden, and what he thinks to be a tad cruel.  
“With El. She flew in to see me.” Louis murmurs, and his face is a mixture of uneasy and fragile.  
In this moment, he’s all hidden collarbones and delicate, pale eyes, and it’s in this moment that Harry reels back, awkwardly, taking in a short breath and trying to figure out something to say.  
And truth be told, he had sort-of forgotten about Eleanor. Louis never brought her up in conversation, and he knows that they don’t get on….so what was the point in remembering her?  
“Yeah, yeah, right.” Harry eventually says, wanting to drop the subject entirely.  
Harry supposes he’d rather know that Louis is spending the night with his girlfriend (Still cringing at that years later) than his fuckboy friends who seem quite oblivious to Louis’ torments and way too eager to hand him a splint or a drink or a few unnecessary headlines come morning. What’s the saying? Rather a lier than a drunk?  
But Harry can’t stand it-- can’t stand her.  
Eleanor Calder. What a fucking joke.  
She’s not---- bad, per say. Harry knows he kind of hates her on principle alone. And she is pretty, and clever, and all that-- but she just isn’t right.  
Not right for him. Not right for Louis.  
Still, Harry knows deep down he’s not the good guy here. He was the mistress. Louis did cheat on her with him (and countless other God-awful random girls). Harry wishes sometimes that he felt more guilty about it. But truthfully he doesn’t. It’s not that he condones cheating, because he doesn’t-- and if he were the one even remotely close to considering cheating, he’d detest himself--- it’s just that he always felt like it was Harry and Louis.  
Louis and Harry.  
In every universe, every life. The girls are just bumps in the road, so to speak. They are the stars of their love story, and every other person is merely just a stand-in.  
It isn’t fair, and Harry knows it. To Eleanor, to himself. Sharing his boy has never been easy, but he’d rather share him than have nothing to do with him at all, even if sometimes he gets jealous, even if sometimes he acts like a dick to Eleanor, even if sometimes he’s heartbroken because Louis is defending her or spending time with her or just looking at her, really.  
And sometimes, it doesn’t all feel worth it.  
But looking at Louis now, illuminated by the harsh stadium lights, all soft and perfect and calm, Harry knows he’d still give the world just to make him happy.  
Even if that means his own heart gets trodden on in the process.  
“Have fun, yeah?” Louis says then, putting him out of his reverie.  
Louis looks sincere, unspoken.  
Harry thinks he knows what it does to him deep down.  
**  
It’s 10pm, and Niall already looks like a fucking rap star. They’re walking to the club on foot, shoes clattering on pavement, and Harry still can’t believe he allowed himself to get roped into this.  
Well, at least, as long as Niall’s looking like that.  
“Sam is studying photography, you know?” Niall stammers, excitedly, adjusting his gold chain for what feels like the ninetieth time in minutes and walking so fast Harry literally has to jog to keep up. “She took a year off to travel the world and take photos, can you imagine?”  
“M’sure I can.” Harry says, slightly confused, slightly delighted.  
He’s never seen Niall like this before. (Aside from the ridiculous gold chain.) It’s almost as if this girl has rendered him...giddy. Nervous. Akin to a teenage girl squealing over a poster.  
The club Tarzan is located just left of a huge, open field. As Harry and Niall enter, they’re immediately swarmed by green and blue flashing lights, and a crowd packed so tightly together that Harry wonders if there’s room to breathe. It’s obvious that the people here are mostly of the dance variety-- neon bangles, braids, body paint and band tops-- but that doesn’t stop Niall from instantly immersing himself into their conversations and becoming the centre of attention.  
(Harry didn’t even think it possible to become the centre of attention while remaining stationary on a dance floor, but there you have it.)  
Around them, music is pumping from every visible orifice, and from up above, green strings of L.E.D lights painted like vines hang down and cut a bright, small area of contrast through the darkness. The whole place, in fact, aside from the jet black walls, floor and ceiling, is outfitted just like a jungle-- dark brown bars draped with fake ferns and planks of wood, bottles and shot glasses with billowing flower petals cambering from their every corner, chairs shaped like wooden huts, and thick, tropical drum beats thundering up and around the walls in a fashion similar to a drill pounding into concrete.  
And it’s pretty for a club, Harry guesses. Even though he can’t even hear himself think.  
“Niallerrrrrr!” A voice says, cutting through the music, and rushing to Niall with a speed Harry has to assume makes her Samantha.  
The girl of Niall’s dreams, the one he hasn’t been able to shut up about for the past seven hours.  
Harry thinks he can see why.  
She’s short, tanned, with an angled jaw and a freckled, serious face. On either side of her ears lie thick, long curls; mouse brown in shade, large in size, and flattened slightly at the front by a largely-brimmed black hat. Behind a steely, intense set of eyebrows lie sharp, deep green eyes, and below a soft, button nose lies the sharpest smile Harry’s ever seen.  
And she’s pretty, stood there with the biggest grin and looking very---well--- normal compared to Niall, who looks like Kanye Fucking West gone bad. Definitely too much bling, Harry thinks.  
She kisses Niall on the cheek, and from what Harry can tell, seems genuinely happy to see him. She’s wearing skinny jeans splattered with camping badges, customized Vans that Harry can’t read because of how flashy the lights are, and a simple green shirt that says “Irish I were drunk” written in bold, yellow letters.  
Niall laughs at that.  
“I bought it thinking of you, you know.” She says, thick British accent evident in her tone.  
More laughing.  
Harry already likes her.  
“And who we have here?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow and glancing towards Harry.  
“M’Harry. Nice to meet you.” He sticks out a hand.  
“Ohh. I know who you are, silly.” She answers, easily, taking his hand. “I’ve ‘eard a lot about you from the poser here.”  
They both laugh. Niall blushes green under the lights.  
“Not sure I can ever learn to like you, though.” Sam lets go of the hand. “You did let him go out in that atrocious outfit, after all.”  
Harry snorts.  
“Alright, let’s get a table, you’re already nagging me.” Niall shakes his head, cheeks bright.  
Harry and Sam follow after him, eventually sitting down with some of Sam’s friends at a table not too far from the bar. Harry participates in the conversation here and there, but spends the most part of it staring at Niall, who seems a different person entirely when he’s around her. He’s not his usual, smooth self, reverted to shy smiles and riotous laughter. And everytime he tries to sweet-talk Sam, like all of the other hundred or-so girls in his wake, she just dismisses him.  
“So. How was the show?” She asks, sipping at her drink.  
“Fantastic.” Niall answers. “I sang a song about you, actually.”  
“Yeah?” Her lips give way to a toothy smile. “It wouldn’t be first time that happened to me.”  
She’s joking with him, Harry can tell, but it does nothing to hide the fact that she’s avoiding his flirtation. She’s not returning his winks, either, from what Harry can see.  
“Mine is going to be a hit though. It’s definitely going on the album.” Niall laughs.  
“It’s beautiful.” Harry nods along.  
“Just like you.” Niall adds, tilting his head, and Sam rolls her eyes.  
“Come and dance with me.” Sam grabs Harry by the wrist, suddenly, leading him from the table and leaving Niall with the rest of Sam’s friends-- who are most obviously fans, considering the way they were looking at Niall earlier.  
The music is way too fast and way too loud on the dancefloor. But Harry goes with it.  
“You’re playing hard to get.” He says, once they get out of Niall’s earshot.  
“You’d be wrong in saying that.” She smiles and shakes her head. “I have no intention of being added to a supersized list of conquests, that’s all. That’s just not who I am.”  
And Harry certainly can relate.  
“What if he thinks you’re the one?”  
She laughs. “Niall wouldn’t recognise the one if she ran him over with a truck.”  
Harry is not so sure about this. “He really likes you, you know.”  
“I like him too,” She says, hesitant, “Probably too much, even.”  
Harry’s grin grows, and she realizes, eyes widening, that she said it out loud. “Don’t tell him that!”  
“I won’t,” He shakes his head, “But what’s stopping you?”  
“I know his type.” Sam rolls her eyes, “I’m just a shiny object right now. He wants me because he can’t have me. What if I say yes and I get my heart broken?”  
There’s an unspoken “again” in the air. Harry feels a pang of recognition.  
“Plus he’s famous, and I like my privacy.” Sam explains, ruffling her hair from underneath her hat. “And he’s always travelling and so am I. What is the point?”  
Harry doesn’t offer an answer because he doesn’t have one.  
What is the point in falling in love, anyway? What’s the point in it all? He can still see the look of horror on Louis’ face after Harry told him he loved him, fresh in his mind, and it haunts him even to this day.  
An open heart is an open wound to Louis, and Harry is afraid he’ll never learn why.  
But despite Harry’s deliberation and Sam’s reluctance, the three of them end up spending a really good night together. Sam is a wonderful girl, and Harry certainly sees the appeal. She’s not phased by anything, she’s fun and funny, and she makes fun of Niall every once in awhile, which is always a plus.  
At the end of the night, they’re all drunk and happy.  
“I’m pretty sure I can change your mind about Niall.” Harry says, on the club’s doorstep. Niall is just down the street, saying goodbye to the rest of Sam’s friends.  
“You don’t give up, do you?” She grins up at him, crossing her arms.  
“That’s… huh…” Harry says, realisation striking him. “That’s really the best way to describe me.”  
“Here, give me your number.” Sam shakes her head. “Even if Siall is never born, we can still be friends.”

**

The next day. Harry is meeting Louis for coffee, and the sky is grey, washed with pink at the horizon. It casts a warm, orange-esque glow over everything and paints the street in a dark purple hue that makes the cars melt into the pavement.  
They meet in front of the coffee shop. Louis is swaddled in a dark green jacket, the tips of his hair whisked with pale rose and his smile contagious.  
“What’s up, Curly?”  
Curly.  
It’s been weeks since Louis has called him that. It causes a fresh army of butterflies to storm up his chest and take his heart hostage.  
“Well, you missed the fight of the century.” Harry comments.  
“What?” Louis frowns.  
“I’ll tell you in a bit, let’s order first.”  
They step inside the coffee shop. It’s warm, and the entire place feels like it’s been enveloped in a warm blanket of air that boasts rich aromas of fresh coffee and baked goods. As the door shuts behind them-- a green, wooden number with chipped paint and a stained glass window-- it feels almost as if the cold is locked outside, left to linger behind frosted walls and to sadly look in on the shop’s warmth and happiness. Live plants are positioned all around the room, their leaves casting distorted shadows in the muted lighting, and what with those and the low, dark blue ceiling, Harry feels almost as if he’s walked straight into the den of a country home.  
Louis walks up to the counter, past the small, circular chairs stuffed to the brim with cushions and the low tables surrounded almost completely by blurry-eyed teens and moping salesmen. The woman at the counter looks like she has three eyebrows.  
“Hi.” Louis says. “I’ll have a tall coffee with five seconds of soy milk, please.”  
The woman nods and vigorously inputs this information into the till. Meanwhile, Harry seems to latch on to what Louis said, and a smile completely envelops his features.  
“Heh.” Harry says, grinning. “Five seconds of soy-mer.”  
For a second, Louis just stares at him.  
And then, he sighs, closes his eyes, and places his hand squarely onto his forehead.  
“My god.” He says, looking at him, but there’s a smile there nonetheless. “You are such an idiot.”  
Harry begins to laugh. “And the idiot’ll have a frappucino on top of that, please.”  
They’re about to sit down when Harry’s phone rings. Once he sees the caller ID, he can’t help but become a ball of walking sunshine.  
“I have to take this, sorry.” He stammers, fingers trailing onto the answer button.  
Louis doesn’t react except for the slight frown forming on his forehead. He’s used to having Harry’s undivided attention.  
“Saaaaam! I’m so happy to hear from you!”  
Louis instantly scowls. Harry frowns at him, smiling only to answer the caller on the other side--“I spent a wonderful evening too, it was really nice to meet you.”  
‘Sam’ says something, and then, in response, Harry breaks out into an infectious cackle.  
Or, at least, it would be infectious, if Louis didn’t feel so bloody angry.  
“I know, I know. It’s not always like that.”  
Referring to God knows what. Louis glares at the phone, trying to picture what the guy looks like. Does he look better than Louis? Does he look like Greg? He suppresses a shudder at that.  
Prick.  
“Are you kidding? It looked great. You have better hair than me.”  
And at that, Louis can’t hide his horror. Because no one has better hair than Harry. Especially not this fucking imposter.  
“Yeah, about that. We’re leaving for Seattle today. You’re travelling, we’re travelling. There’s an empty seat beside me on the plane…”  
“Yeah? That’s fucking sick! we’re gonna have so much fun! I’ll text you the technicalities.”  
“Okay, Okay! See you then!”  
Harry hangs up with the biggest smile on his face to find a frowny, hunched-up Louis in his wake.  
What has he done now?  
“So, who’s the guy?” Louis says, glumly.  
“Wh…?”  
And oh.  
Oh.  
Oh. Louis thinks Sam is a guy. And that Harry is interested in him.  
He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  
“What? So we’re just bringing random blokes on the tour now?” Louis is impassive now, a huge, nasty sneer on his lips. “It’s a little insensitive, don’t you think? You could have asked us.”  
Wow.  
Just-- wow.  
“Did you ask me when you brought your douchey friends on tour?” Harry says, a defensive frown on his face.  
Louis rolls his eyes. “This is so uncalled for.”  
“Your jealousy is uncalled for.”  
“I’m not not jealous, plus--- Oli and Cal are my childhood friends, not people I just met--”  
“I’m not asking you permission to bring my friends on tour, Louis.” Harry balls his hand into a fist on the table.  
“Really? Oh, who’s next? Nick the Dick? Are you bringing Greg again? It could be a fucking gang bang!” Louis looks completely crazy right now, anger seething into the air, lips curled into a nasty pout.  
And, you know what? Harry can’t be bothered with this anymore.  
So he picks up his drink, walks to the door, and leaves, not before saying---  
“You’re going to feel so foolish tonight. I’ll be waiting for your apology.”

**

This plane ride is going to be so fucking weird.  
Louis, Harry, Liam and Zayn are each seated in far off corners. They couldn’t be further from each other if they tried. Oli and Cal are catching up on another flight, no doubt with several bundles of drugs and drinks and girls along with them---  
And then there’s Niall, bundled only with his timing and good nature, and Sam at his heels. She’s wearing a college snapback and simple jeans, with a huge, dangling camera hung around her neck.  
Niall introduces her with the moderation he’s known for, of course. “Guys, meet Sam, the mother of my future children.”  
She huffs and rolls her eyes. Niall smiles at her easily, Harry getting up to greet her. Liam and Zayn smile politely and say hello.  
Louis gives her a onceover, and then, he turns away.  
Harry watches him closely.  
He’s wearing a sour scowl. His eyes are scrunched up in disgust, causing a ripple of wrinkles to ebb and flow up and over his brow, and underneath that brow, his eyes shine cold and bright. They’re a blue often associated with freezing deep sea dives or the feeling you get when the kick of mint toothpaste eventually sets in on your lips, but right now, they’re right in front of Harry. Waiting. Unsettling. And unforgiving.  
And just like eating strawberry ice cream right after brushing your teeth, looking at Louis leaves a sour aftertaste in his mouth. Why is Louis acting this way?  
“Oh, God. What curled up and died up his butt?” Sam asks.  
“Please ignore the child.” Harry says, eyes angled towards Louis. “He’s pouting. BECAUSE HE OWES ME A FUCKING APOLOGY. I’LL BE RIGHT HERE WHEN YOU’RE READY, LOU.”  
Louis simply slips on headphones, glaring bitterly out of the window. Sam raises her eyebrows and sits next to Harry, in front of Niall.  
Sometimes Harry feels like his life wherever Louis is concerned would play better in the presence of a soap opera.  
“I’m delighted to see that the myth about band members not talking to each other behind closed doors is actually not a myth, you know.” Sam says, loudly, to no one in particular, once they’ve sat down and the flight has begun. “You lot sure know how to make a girl feel welcome.”  
Liam and Zayn join them after that, her attempt at defusing the tension working on them, at least.  
Louis is still yet to say two words to her, though. If he’s anything, he’s persistent in his attempts at stubbornness.  
So on her way back from the toilets, she stops in front of Louis’ seat. He’s reading a book and listening to music all at once, the seat next to him occupied by stacks upon stacks of magazines.  
Basically: anything to avoid talking to Harry, or his fucking gang of goons.  
Sometimes he really hates this band.  
As he looks up, she raises her camera, and begins to snap pictures, one by one, so that they click and flash in Louis’ face, just like a pap would.  
“What the f…” he begins.  
Harry and Niall are immediately alerted, edging their heads over the seats to see what’s going on.  
“What’s up, pouty boy? I just want to immortalise this moment. So when you and I are actually besties, I’ll show them to you and you can properly apologise to me for being so fucking rude.” Sam says.  
Niall glances back to Harry. “It’s fine. She can take care of herself. That’s one of the many reasons why I like her.”  
Harry sits back in his seat, but he’s still worried.  
(For whom in this situation, he’s not quite sure.)  
“You know, snapping pictures without actually asking first is not very polite.” Louis bites back, eyelids low.  
“Says the guy who can’t even bother to say hello.” She retorts.  
She’s quick on the draw, he’ll give her that.  
“Fair enough.” Louis says. “Have a seat.”  
“You forgot to say please.”  
“Just sit.” Louis says, irritation showing.  
Sam raises her eyebrows, moves the stack of magazines and books to beside Louis’ feet, and then, sits there, arms crossed, looking expectantly at him.  
“So. What’s your deal?” Louis asks her.  
“My…?”  
“Yes. What do you want from Niall…. and Harry. What do you want?”  
Sam doesn’t seem to catch his drift.  
“What are you after? A quick fuck? A sugar daddy? Money? Fame? Your face in the tabloids? A record deal? A reality tv role? What?”  
Sam laughs really loud at that. Like a full body laugh.  
“Are you for real? Haha. Oh my god. You are.” She sobers up a bit, but barely. “Um, where to begin? Niall is the one pursuing me and not the other way around, I’ll have you know, no matter what he says. Harry I met yesterday, charming really, but I’m pretty sure he’s gay. I need money, sure, but who doesn’t? But I really don’t need theirs. Fame, I’m not after but you’ll have to get to know me to figure it out, I suppose. I can sing in the shower, but I really don’t think it could be record material. And reality tv? Really? I’m not a complete airhead, you know? I’m studying to be a photographer, completing my education and all that shit. To have a career.”  
Louis doesn't really react, so she just adds, not really phased by Louis’ attitude: “I’m quite lovely, you know, if you get to know me.”  
Louis is still silent, observing her.  
“Alrighty then.” She says, clicking her tongue. And then she starts getting up, moving to regain her seat.  
“How did you meet Niall?” Louis blurts. His curiosity, as it seems, has gotten the better of him.  
Sam frowns, slipping back into her seat, and then flicking her chin up, determined not to be gotten the better of.  
“I was snapping photos of a beach and sunset in Spain a few weeks ago and the bloke kept going into the frame.” She shrugs. “Want to see them? They’re good.”  
Louis doesn't say anything.  
Sam sighs, sits up, and yells-- “Nialllerr, would you hand me my backpack pleeeaaassseee?”  
Niall complies and sits in the empty seat in front of them, sending disapproving looks to Louis.  
Don’t mess with my girl.  
She’s beside Louis now, trying to show him the photos. Louis is bored, unimpressed, and regretful, but he’s still looking at them.  
Which is something.  
The photos are both good and hilarious-- but he’s not about to tell her that. There’s a beautiful sunset as a backdrop, and in almost all the photos you can see parts of Niall’s body. An eye, a hand, a foot.  
“I had to say something when he flashed me his junk though.” Sam speaks up, once they reach the end of the photo reel.  
“Hey! Stop it!” Niall says-- “This is absolutely not the way we met.”  
Louis sends Sam a look that says “well well.”, just like he caught her in a lie. But the victory dance he’s doing in his head is short lived.  
“You always tell the story wrong.” Niall whines.  
“Go on then. You tell it.” Sam complies, already making herself comfortable in her seat.  
Louis feels like his space is being invaded.  
“I was poetically watching the sunset, you know, as you do, and this bloody stalker couldn’t stop taking photos of me.” Niall nods to her, eyes on her face the whole time, and Louis guesses it’s kind of sweet. “I’m pretty sure she fell in love me right there and then, so naturally--- I had to let her have a tasteful souvenir.”  
“Ooooh, is that what it was?” She jeers, showing Niall a photo hidden from Louis on the camera reel.  
He blushes bright red. “Mannn, It was much funnier in my head, I swear. Please delete that.”  
“Absolutely not.” She laughs. “I don’t want to disappoint grumpy here in his apparent certainty in the idea that I’m a gold digger, so I’m going to sell it to the highest bidder and buy my way into fame instead of fucking.”  
Louis shifts in his seat. Niall just frowns.  
“This,” Sam continues, wavering the photo in the air-- “Is fucking gold. No, in fact, it’s art.”  
“I’m sure it is.” Louis says, covering his amusement with disgruntlement. “But kids, if you don’t mind, I’m going to ask you to take your flirting elsewhere, because I was busy here before you rudely interrupted.”  
“Man, tough crowd.” Sam says, laughing but already getting up and grabbing Niall’s hand in the process--- “Come on.”  
Louis clearly hears Niall mumble “Bloody cunt” in his direction on his way back to Harry’s corner.

**

Okay, so maybe, Louis was wrong.  
Maybe, just maybe, Sam is not after Harry, as it seems.  
Still, she takes up a lot of space. And she comments on everything. And she never shuts up. And she monopolises Harry quite a bit. And that’s not gonna cut it at all-- or, at least that’s what Louis thinks, chilling backstage before the Seattle show.  
They’re bloody children--- Sam, Niall, and Harry--- they really are. Running in hallways with water guns, having food fights over dinner, it’s ridiculous, really. They’ve been out on their own for the best part of the five days they’ve spent in Seattle but when they’re here, man, they’re loud.  
“Aren’t you tired of third wheeling?” Louis asks Harry, five days after the arrival of the invader, as Louis likes to call her.  
“Haaa, Lou. If only you had real friends, you’d understand.” Harry replies, patting him on the knee, his pissed tone thinly veiled.  
“I thought you were my friend.”  
Harry pauses at that and frowns, sadness ebbing over his face. “If we’re friends, Lou, you’re not being a very good one to me right now.”  
And then Harry hears Sam down the corridor, approaching swiftly with a water gun, and bolts.  
Louis spends the whole show watching Harry and keeps repeating the last sentence he told him in his head.  
It haunts him, if he’s going to be completely honest.  
And Harry is right. Louis has been a shitty friend. And as much as he didn’t want to, he did break his heart. He’s said hurtful thing after hurtful thing to him over and over again. And yet, Harry still sang “I’ll stand by you” to him, when he needed it the most. And when he made a new friend, he treated her like shit and made sure she and Harry know she was not welcome.  
What a shitty friend indeed.  
It’s with those gloomy thoughts that he goes backstage after the show. Beside the speakers, he sees Sam greeting Niall and Harry with a hint of tears in her eyes.  
“My god, you were so good out there! I don’t… I can’t… I don’t know!” Sam says, looking very, very proud. Niall looks over the moon, and Harry being Harry, he just thanks her awkwardly.  
Louis watches them from afar and joins Oli and Cal, who don’t acknowledge him in the slightest. They’re both absorbed in their phones.  
“What did you think of the show, lads?” Louis asks. At this point, he’s desperate for just a little bit of attention.  
“Was good,” Oli says, absentmindedly, still looking at his phone.  
Cal mumbles something inaudible.  
Louis rolls his eyes. Because--- really?  
After his after-show smoke with Zayn, who frankly, looks just as gloomy as Louis feels, Oli asks Louis if they’re going out tonight.  
“I’m not. I have stuff to do.” Louis answers.  
And by stuff, he means writing.  
Because, thank God, his muse has finally, finally stricken. The beginning of a chorus has started to form in his head at some point during the last three hours, and he’s desperate to let it out, because he knows if he doesn’t, it’s never going to leave him alone.  
Niall, Harry and Sam are planning on going out and they didn’t invite him. Louis is feeling a pang of hurt, even though he knows he would’ve turned them down.  
Hours later, he finds himself wandering the halls of the hotel, feeling both lost and oddly purposeful inside. He’s decided, somehow, rather wholeheartedly, that the chorus would go wonderfully with some cords he wrote and recorded with Harry--- ages ago, of course. He wonders, for a blinding moment of doubt, if Harry’ll will still have it--- but then, he remembers, it’s Harry.  
Of course he’ll still have it.  
This particular recording is on Harry’s laptop, located with all the other demos and songs they’ve recorded together over the years. Louis is wholly glad that for once, Harry’s neat-freak quirks have come in handy. With all of his named folders, colour-coded candles, and sticky-notes, even a toddler would be able to find their way around.  
It doesn’t take long to convince the maid to let him in the room, but when he does, he’s not entirely sure he’s ready for the blast of nostalgia that hits him once he walks in. This place seems familiar-- and despite the fact that it’s spanned itself over various different locations over the years, there’s always been a consistent sense of home across each and every room Harry has bundled himself in.  
Everything’s always the same, despite the change of setting--- the scented candles, always the same as the vanilla lining Anne’s hallway back in London, his cologne, hanging heavily in the air beside his bedside table, the odd bits and bobs that he’s collected over his various journeys to different antique shops in different cities, like the Rio de Janeiro statue that has a pencil sharpening function at the bottom, the vintage coca cola bottle with the boat inside, the teddy bear with stickers plastered on each square centimetre of it’s surface and a brass figurine of Mr Muscle that Louis is sure will never serve a purpose.  
But, yet, it’s so Harry-- every part of it. It’s apart of his aura, apart of his personality, apart of the constant sense of home that he carries around with him.  
There’s a yoga mat beside the wardrobe, socks and shirts lying on the bed, all folded symmetrically in half. There’s a huge corkboard hanging over his bedside mirror, so high up that Louis has to stand on tiptoes-- but he can clearly make out each and every picture.  
Amongst them, there’s a selfie of Niall and Sam looking silly, a selfie of Harry, Niall and Sam posing as rockstars, a picture of Harry’s shoes against the concrete, a picture of four rings spread out, neatly, in front of a polka dot backdrop, a section of a photo sellotaped on top of another, so that the guy in the photo looks like he’s got a different head and pair of shoulders.  
Louis smiles at that. Harry always finds himself hilarious, even when the subject matter is not funny at all.  
Below that, lie a bundle more of photobooth photos of Niall, Sam and Harry together, yet to be properly sellotaped onto the board. Louis ignores the pang in his gut screaming “you’re being left out and it’s all your fault” as he skims over them, oddly fond and sad all at once.  
It’s a strange feeling.  
There are tons more photos like this that follow the same principle. Sam looking at Niall, Niall laughing at Harry, Harry pulling a funny face, the both of them laughing. Yadayadayada.  
But in the middle of all of this, just apart from the rest of the photographs, grumpy and foreboding, lies the first photo Sam ever took of Louis. He’s slumped up in his chair, glaring up at the camera with thick bags under his eyes and an accusing, maddening stare in his eyes. He’s mad, sad, and sour all at once-- not anything Louis ever wants to be. He stares at it for a very long time, reflecting.  
This is not him.  
This is NOT him.  
It’s not the general mood in the photo that strikes him. It’s the lack of something in his own eyes, the vacancy of the feeling, the lack of heart.  
The lack of love.  
His gaze trails back to one of the photos featuring Harry alone, laid back in a rocking chair in God knows where, and it strikes him that something is missing from Harry’s eyes too. He’s smiling, sure, but the light is gone, like an echo of his own empty ones.  
Soon, it becomes too hard to look at them.  
He shakes his head out of his deliberation. He’s on a mission, remember? To find Harry’s computer, download the song on his flash drive, and go straight back to his room.  
Right.  
He finds the laptop and the file easily, bless Harry’s little maniac tendencies, and is about to close the laptop and leave when something catches his eye.  
Something small. Something insignificant.  
But yet, it screams a thousand words.  
Louis takes in a shaky breath. In front of him, blinking, unaware, behind his mouse, lies a file. It’s called “to delete when the time is right,” and he knows he’s going to click on it the moment it enters his eyeline.  
Even if he shouldn’t.  
Even if this is Harry’s privacy he’s hacking into.  
Even if, every single part of him is screaming: nononononononono!  
He takes a shaky seat on the edge of Harry’s bed and presses play. The room is suddenly very cold.  
Turn down the lights,  
Turn down the bed,  
Turn down these voices, inside my head.  
Louis can hear the desperation in Harry’s voice, despite the low quality recording.  
His stomach becomes a black hole.

Cause I can't make you love me  
If you don't  
You can't make your heart feel  
Something it won't  
Here in the dark  
These final hours  
I will lay down my heart  
I feel the power but you don't  
No, you don't

At the end of the song, Louis’ heart is beating so fast it’s threatening to break out of his chest. He feels like an intruder now. He is the invader now, not Sam. He is the one who has fucked up everything, and now, he is the one who is trampling on the pieces, breaking any chance of survival.  
And he is horrible. This is horrible. This fucking track, barging itself into Louis’ head and skull and chest, is fucking horrible---  
He gets up to leave. He can’t take this anymore, can’t take the waves of guilt rushing over him.  
He’s about to turn off the laptop when, through the static, through the thunder that’s playing in the recording, he hears it.  
A sob.  
A heartbreaking, earth shattering, unmistakable sob.  
Harry’s cry for help.

**

Louis feels numb. Something’s broken inside of him, like the little veins in his heart have all been casted ashore and snapped, leaving trails of heart inside his ribs, inside his head, inside his stomach. They sink with guilt, no longer needed, no longer wanted.  
Because, fuck.  
He did this. He broke Harry’s heart.  
No.  
He broke Harry.  
How could he have done this without realising it?  
How?  
How?  
Some friend he is. The song he was about to write makes even more sense now. Louis doesn't deserve Harry. Harry is much better off without him. Because Louis destroys everything beautiful, causes the rose on Harry’s arm to wilt, and fall, causes the light in his eyes to dry and disappear.  
So if Sam is capable of putting the light back into Harry’s eyes, he’s not going to fight her anymore.  
Harry deserves better.  
Harry deserves love.

I don't know what I've done  
Or if I like what I've begun  
But something told me to run  
And honey, you know me, it's all or none  
There were sounds in my head  
Little voices whispering  
That I should go and this should end  
Oh, and I found myself listening  
'Cause I don't know who I am, who I am without you  
All I know is that I should  
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you  
All I know is that I should  
'Cause she will love you more than I could  
She who dares to stand where I stood

 

It’s 5 a.m when Louis finishes the song, just in time for him to hear Niall, Sam and Harry coming back from their night, laughing and shushing each other down the corridor.  
Louis lies awake in his bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, imagining Harry’s eyes in front of him, remembering the way he used to smile when he saw that face. That face, so full of innocence and neatness and hope and love.  
So much love.  
After a while he opens his computer again, and renames the song to “To delete when the time is right”.  
And after that, he sleeps like a baby. He’s made a decision, and now, things are much clearer.  
He’s not going to give up this easily. He may not be able to be what Harry wants him to be but he sure can mend their friendship.  
He’s going to try.  
He owes him as much.

**

When Louis wakes up, his only intention is to speak to Harry. The sky is bright and sunny, the clouds illuminated with a warm, crisp glow that lights up the carpet, casts sharp shadows across the bed, and paints the world a whole lot clearer.  
But instead, he somehow finds himself with Zayn. He’s stood in the hallway on the way to the lobby, looking glum, lips drawn in a small pout and a sad, floppy fringe hiding his eyes. Skinny, heavily tattooed arms give way to a tank top that hangs from him like a coat hook, and pale, dismally open lips give way to a cigarette that he appears to have no intention on lighting.  
And if Louis is to be honest here, Zayn looks like shit.  
But this isn’t going to cut it anymore. Louis has been a spectator of his own band’s implosion for far too long. But not anymore. Louis is not going to let this band fall to pieces.  
He’s not going to be at fault or anything else.  
“You. My room. Now.” Louis says, pointing at Zayn.  
Zayn’s eyebrows go through the roof. “Ohhkayyy?”  
But he follows nonetheless. And once he’s cornered Zayn onto the corner of the bed, still moping pathetically, Louis puts his hands on his hips and decides to get the truth out once and for all.  
“What’s going on with you and Liam?”  
Sad, moping eyes meet Louis’ and for a moment, he just stares up at him. And then, he groans, disappointed, standing up to leave-- “Urghhhh, not you too.”  
“No. Sit. Talk. It’s been going on for far too long.” Louis grabs his arm.  
“You’re one to talk.” Zayn answers, brow furrowing.  
“This isn’t about me. Spill.” Louis crosses his arms.  
Zayn sighs. “Clearly, you don’t know what life is like beyond the front row of Louis and Harry: the soap Opera.”  
“Huh.” Louis says, realisation striking him all of a sudden, but he manages to catch himself nonetheless. “Don’t change the subject. It won’t work.”  
Zayn complies then, slumping back down on the bed. “Well, Liam and I… We’ve been fighting a lot lately.”  
“Uhm.” Louis nods.  
“He’s in love with me.” Zayn says, disbelieving. His eyes are on the floor.  
“But you’re not.” Louis says, finding solace in the fact that they’re in the same situation.  
Zayn frowns at him like he’s crazy, eyebrows properly furrowed. “No, I am.”  
Oh.  
“Oh, my bad.” Louis says, feeling oddly awkward. “I don’t see where the problem is then. Is it Simon? Is he pressuring you? Because…”  
...Because God help him, if it’s the case, he’s going to kill the bloody bastard.  
(Simon has ruined enough shit for the time being.)  
“No! It’s not that.” Zayn shakes his head. “We’ve been a lot more discreet than you and Harry were back in the day, you know.”  
“I’m fvgjxcs--” Louis is mumbling now.  
Because what? It’s certainly not the same situation.  
Harry is not Liam. Zayn is not Louis. Louis was not in love with Harry. It was just a friends with benefits type of thing.  
Well on his end, at least.  
What the fuck.  
Zayn saves Louis from his own embarrassment. “Look. It’s not that. It’s not management, it’s not the label, It’s not the pressure of coming out in this business. It’s none of that.”  
What is it then?  
Oh. Oh.  
“Is it your family then, your friends?” Louis asks, tentatively.  
Zayn scoffs at this, “Believe it or not, not all Muslim families are homophobic assholes.”  
“That’s not what I meant. At all.” Louis amends. “My family and my friends are not Muslim, but I’m pretty sure if I was gay, it would very much be a problem.”  
And then Zayn just looks like he’s sad.  
No. Like he’s pitying him.  
He lets out a deep, long sigh.“Your family will always be your family, but, your friends, you can choose.”  
Harry.  
“Don’t try and change the subject again.” Louis bites.  
Coward.  
“I just don’t like permanent things.” Zayn says.  
Louis frowns at that. Zayn? Not permanent?  
At Louis’ confusion, Zayn sits back on the bed, hands in lap, eyelids low. “Like, what's the point, Louis?”  
Louis feels his stomach whirr. He feels like he’s had this conversation before.  
"We're born to die, each and every one of us." Zayn continues.“I love him, alright? But I know that eventually things are going to go wrong. I’ve seen it so many times before that I just can't bear to go through with it with Liam.”  
Louis stares at his feet. Zayn lets out a pained sigh, turning so that his face is no longer facing Louis.  
“I just--- I just can’t.” He mumbles.  
Louis suddenly gets very angry. “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”  
Zayn looks up.  
“Things can go to shit. So what? You don’t even try? You give up? You pass up the chance at happiness?” Louis is fuming now, standing up straight, frustration ebbing from him like a tidal wave.  
“But..”  
“No buts. Newsflash--- I know things can go wrong. My mother and her two husbands showed me that. Hell, Harry’s mother got three! But look at her now. She’s never been happier. So yes, in any relationship, there will be highs, and there will be lows, but you do it anyway, because the highs are worth it. They’re always worth it.”  
And then, more quietly, he adds-- “And so is Liam.”  
Zayn seems to ponder Louis’ words of wisdom, brow lightening just that little bit.  
Louis sighs. “Look, life is short, so why don’t you just go for it? Who’s to say Liam is not the one? What if you never are this in love again?”  
Zayn nods frantically, gets up, so that he’s nearly out of the door.  
When he turns back, his face is sad, his tone soft. “Why don’t you take your own advice, Lou?”

 

**

Louis spends the majority of the journey to the airport psyching himself up to apologize to Harry. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, but it somehow is. He can’t fight the jittery feeling creeping up the sides of his body, nor can he understand why it’s there. He shouldn’t feel this way.  
It shouldn’t be this difficult.  
Fuck.  
He’s a grown man. He can do it.  
Right?  
Fuck.  
It’s safe to say that he’s just a little bit stressed out at this point. So when the opening sounds of Apologize by OneRepublic begin playing through his headphones, it’s also safe to say that he turns that shit right off.  
(With lyrics like “It’s too late to apologize”, it’s not exactly something he needs.)  
The sky is crisp, the sunrise casting the clouds dark purple and orange and all of the colours inbetween. Behind the clouds, strewn together like moss, the sky is a pale blue, melting into mint at the horizon as the sun begins to clamber up the hills, the trees, the city. And as Louis walks across the concrete, hands tucked into his pockets, he wonders why he feels so warm despite the cold. Before he set out, he could’ve sworn that he had goosebumps.  
The plane to Minneapolis is quiet when he enters, filled mostly by sleepy crew and half-awake managers with newspapers obscuring their faces, so it’s naturally, really, that he hears Sam and Harry’s conversation from way out at the back. He’s not sure if they realize how loud they’re actually talking.  
“Absolutely fucking not. I shouldn’t have told you.” Sam says, as Louis approaches. Her eyes are on Harry.  
“Why not? I could help, I’m a millionaire, you know?” Harry answers.  
“Urghh. Believe me, I know, it’s been a blast.” Sam sighs, frustrated. “But I just can’t. Do not tell him, though. I mean it.”  
Louis interrupts them then, placing his hand on the seat in front. Harry doesn’t look happy about the interruption, brow turning into a scowl. This isn’t starting very well; but Louis can’t wait any longer. He feels like he’s going to explode any minute now.  
“Um, can I talk to you?” Louis asks Harry in a hush, looking at Sam with a pleading look.  
Despite their differences, Sam can take a hint, Louis supposes. Second later, she’s getting up and leaving on the pretext to have to check her photos from the last show.  
Louis sits in her place, letting out a deep, hearty sigh. He doesn’t know where to start.  
Harry is looking at him with a curious and expectant look on his face, his hands clasped in his lap. He’s wearing a green beanie over his curls today; and it makes them twist and camber down to his cheeks, providing a clear contrast of light beside dark. His lips are as red as the clouds above, and the hoodie he’s wearing makes him almost appear soft, as if God decided to give him no harsh edges.  
Louis wishes he had no harsh edges.  
He’s really just angles and elbows and sharp bits when it comes to anatomy-- at least Harry has shoulders. And a neck. And legs-- oh God, his legs. Louis could think about them forever.  
But now is not the time to think about Harry’s legs, and as he tugs his thoughts back to the present, he realizes, quite wholeheartedly, that he’s been staring at the ripped bit of jeans over Harry’s knee for quite some time.  
Ooops.  
He blinks nonetheless, shaking his head and sticking his hands in his pockets.  
“So, I’ve been a dick.”  
Harry looks at him blankly, because that’s the understatement of the fucking century.  
“And then some.” Harry adds, almost stubbornly.  
Louis ignores his tone. He doesn’t want to fight.  
“Yes.” Louis nods, staring at the chair in front. “I’ve been treating you poorly for a very long time, and I would very much like for you to forgive me.”  
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Louis is too fucking used to have things handed to him without putting much effort to it. Harry is always there, caring and forgiving.  
But it’s not going to cut it this time. Harry won’t let it slide that easily. He’s had enough of being the doormat under Louis’ feet. Yes Harry said he’ll stand by him, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to be in this so called “friendship” if Louis isn’t doing his part.  
Harry scoffs, tone annoyed. “For which bit? Acting like a brat? Treating my friends like shit? Breaking my heart?”  
There. It’s out.  
Harry looks both furious and sad, his brow low, his lips curved into a sneer. It’s faint, but it’s definitely there.  
Louis feels a pang of guilt.  
And he, well, he gets it. The song Harry recorded is still fresh in his mind.  
“Look. I know it has not been easy putting up with me for the last… Well, for as long as you’ve known me, really.” Louis shifts in his seat. “But that’s the thing… you know me.”  
That Harry does. Like it’s some fucking excuse to act the way he acts.  
“I don’t know if I can trust you again. After… Everything.” Harry says, quietly.  
It costs him a lot to say it, but it’s the truth.  
And at that, Louis is invigorated. Harry is giving him a challenge.  
And if Louis Tomlinson is capable of anything, it’s rising up to a challenge.  
“I... I understand, really.” He says, feeling a little sheepish. “But I can promise you one thing. I’ll do everything I can to change your mind.”

**

The crowd is bright tonight, flashes of faces singled out only by the sunset and the neverending circles of light protruding from the forwards and the beyond of the dark. It’s beautiful, it really is, every single one of those lights. It’s in moments like these that Louis feels genuinely lucky, not just for all that he has-- but all that he will ever have. Each and every one of those flashes are there for them.  
“Minneapolis! We’re so happy to be here tonight!” Louis says, microphone held to mouth, arms held out wide towards the crowd. “We hope you’re having a good time. Payno, I have to pee. Please make yourself useful and read some signs.”  
Liam bats him away, cheeks flushed from either the cold or the rush, feet taking him to the edge of the stage. He stoops down, so that his hands rest on his knees, and squints, taking in the sea of multicoloured posters in front of him.  
“Okay, what do we have here?”  
Harry, you make me strong.  
“Good choice!” Liam reads, and Harry thanks the girl holding it by taking a little bow, hands together.  
Zayn’s hair give me life.  
“Me too, me too.” Liam says. All the boys laugh at that, Zayn’s cheeks flare red.  
#LOVEWINS.  
“Nice.” Liam nods, and Niall mouths “Always”.  
I love you more than free wifi, he reads.  
“That must be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to him.” Zayn says then. And Liam just shakes his head, laughing.  
Harry's boots are brighter than my future--  
“Now that is just sad.” Harry laughs, shaking his head.  
As Louis is heading back to the main stage, Liam reads Payno my Poonani.  
“What does that mean?” Liam frowns.  
The crowd goes wild. All of the boys are laughing, Louis almost bent double.  
“This is a family show, Liam.” Harry taunts, eyes watering.  
“I’m afraid the nickname is going to stick, Poonani,” Louis interject then, earning a glance and a laugh from Harry. Louis is getting a kick out of it, so naturally, he can’t stop at that.  
“Should we go with Poonani Payno or Payne the Poonani though?” Louis asks. “Let’s take a quick poll.”  
And at that Harry is beaming like the sunshine that he is, dimples spread from ear to ear, eyes on Louis and Louis only. And with a smile like that, Louis just might end up keeping it in his pocket for a rainy day.  
The beginning tones of Why Don’t We Go There ring in and Harry grabs Liam by the neck, leading him away from the crowd in embarrassed baby steps.  
And at that, they all laugh again. Zayn is looking fondly at Liam.  
Louis smiles to Harry and Harry, as always, smiles back.

**

While they are performing “Through the Dark”, Louis spots Sam in the crowd. He sits down at the edge of the stage, legs dangling from the platform, and waves at her to come closer. She looks slightly suspicious, earning herself some quizzical looks from the people around her, but complies nonetheless.  
“Could you do me favor and lend me your water gun?” Louis asks.  
She smiles then, very much knowing where this is going and delighted to be an accessory to it.  
“I can’t be held responsible if this goes wrong, Tomlinson,” She warns, “But okay.”  
“Be discreet!” Louis says with a wink.  
(Because it’s really not her strong suit, after all.)  
Soon she’s back with the weapon heavy in her hands, and her camera strewn around her neck.  
She hands it to him just in time for the beginning of “Something Great”.

I want you here with me  
Like how I pictured it  
So I don't have to keep imagining

And bam.  
Louis shoots Harry with spray in the middle of his chorus. Right in the neck.  
The crowd cheers. Harry recovers from his surprise, but not quickly enough to finish his chorus without letting out breathy squeals at the cold.  
He turns around after the chorus is over, and mouths to Louis, dimples full on show ---  
“You’re going down.”  
It’s not soon after that Harry finds himself in possession of a water bottle, full-on chasing Louis around the stage. He’s faster than he looks, but Louis is quick with the water gun, too-- and it’s safe to say that the rest of the boys are also unwilling casualties in the crossfire.  
You're all I want  
So much it's hurting  
You're all I want  
So much it's hurting

Harry takes Louis’ ending solo as an opportunity to down a whole bottle on Louis’ head, who takes it fully, feeling each and every tendril of cold warp down his face.  
When the song ends, they both run backstage to change clothing between songs. They’re both incredibly out of breath at this point from running around, so it’s almost impossible for Louis to resist holding his as Harry strips off his t-shirt, skin defined and wet.  
He doesn’t even know he’s biting his tongue until Harry looks back up at him, t-shirt still off, hair slick and falling taught behind his ears.  
If Louis thinks he’s going to say anything, he’s wrong. Harry simple flashes him a crooked, soft smile (the asshole) before tugging on another shirt, watching the stage as Louis does the same. When they’re done, he moves back to Louis, grabbing his hand to guide him back on stage.  
“Come on, let’s go.”

**

After Minneapolis, things get better. Liam and Zayn seem to have talked it out, and Harry looks a little more appeased with Louis, despite still being on the fence.  
Louis is now less annoyed with Sam too--- and might even be getting used to her.  
As it turns out, she’s quite handy with pranks, and Louis knows how much Harry loves those. So he might or might not have been turning up the Tommo charm on that one. Plus, it seems to please Harry to see him make an effort with her.  
But when it comes to puns, she’s the absolute worst. She might even be worse than Harry--- and that’s saying something.  
They’re out in Pittsburgh, all six of them, having a quick bite before going paintballing (Louis’ idea). It’s a small, outdoor cafe, with ferns climbing up the side of the table and tiny yellow fairy lights lining the fence. Louis assumes it’s supposed to resemble some kind of mystic den, but the server doesn’t look anything but pork chop, and the chairs look like they’re straight from B&Q.  
So there’s that.  
They’re about to order when Liam says-- “I’m not that hungry.”  
“You should eat something though, regain some strength before the war, you know.” Louis says. “Here, try the panini.”  
“Or the Poonani. Whatever rolls your boat, really.” Sam cuts in.  
There’s a moment of silence.  
And then the whole table is crying from laughter, expect Liam who looks, frankly, horrified and Louis, who only huffs in response.  
Because, he really should have thought of that first.  
“Man, I’m never getting rid of that one, am I?” Liam moans.  
“I’m sorry babe, I’m afraid you’re not.” Zayn chuckles, running a soft hand up his back.

 

**

Paintballing. They don’t seem to agree on the teams, but they agree on the fact that they should probably go random for the teams, which is something, Louis supposes.  
Louis and Sam are the blue team.  
Zayn and Harry are the green team.  
Liam and Niall are the red team.  
“Do not let me down.” Louis tells Sam, as they strap on their equipment. He’s a little less than happy with the team choices.  
“Oh, don’t worry, cheekbones, I’ve got this.” She winks.  
So she seems to like a challenge as much as he does. Good.  
And, for the most part, they end up coming first. They’re both stealthy, quick and concentrated and it, you know, kind of works. She understands Louis’ instructions easily when they talk with hand gestures. She’s ruthless when it comes to putting Niall down and does a little victory dance when Louis takes down Liam.  
It’s cute.  
They’re about to win. Louis can taste the sweet smell of victory already, see the look on Liam’s face when they reign supreme.  
But Sam’s phone is vibrating loudly in their hiding spot.  
“Shhhh, you’re going to get us spotted!” Louis frowns, turning to face her. They’re both squatting behind a well-placed wall.  
“Sorry, I… I have to take this.” Her face is that of turmoil.  
She turns around and pushes the answer button, clearly uncomfortable, but not knowing where to go ,either. So she just stays there.  
“Hi dad, can’t talk right now.” She says, but it’s obviously not enough to stop whoever’s on the other side on the phone from continuing the conversation.  
Louis is listening, but he gives her some semblance of privacy by looking at the perimeter, gun held tightly in hand.  
“It’s not like that at all.” She’s casting furtive glances at Louis.  
“I didn’t use it on that!”  
“I’ll buy my ticket back with my own savings... I’ll be home soon.” She sighs.  
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I love you too.”  
When the phone call’s over, she turns to face Louis. “How much did you gather from that?”  
“Enough.” Louis says.  
“Shit. Don’t tell Niall, please.” She pleads. “I don’t have the heart to tell him yet.”  
Louis feels sad all of a sudden. He was so annoyed with her at the beginning, because of Harry, that he totally forgot about Niall and what it will do to him when she leaves.  
Some shitty friend he is.  
“You could take Harry up on his offer.” Louis says, surprising himself.  
“Wh-- unbelievable. Like I would ever do something like that.” She shakes her head.  
“You mean take his money?”  
“I mean: prove you right.”  
Louis straight-out laughs at that, nearly giving away his position.  
She laughs too. “I’m gonna miss you guys, though. Even you, shithead. It’s been fun.”  
“You’re certainly going to leave a gap.” Louis admits.  
She just smiles at him.  
And then, shots are being fired towards them, splattering above their heads. It’s Zayn and Harry, a mess of flopping fringes and stumbling, thin legs. Sam and Louis take off to the right, darting behind fake bushes and trees, ground skirting beneath feet. He can hear the other two behind them, following closely, and underneath that, almost as an undertone, he can hear his own heartbeat, thumping wildly.  
There’s a rapid pulse in his ears when he realizes he’s been separated from Sam, left with the dead-end of a tunnel to face instead of the opening to the main area that he’d been expecting. He turns on his feet, swearing loudly, realizing that if he doesn’t back up now he could very easily be cornered---  
Too late.  
Harry rounds the corner, all giraffe legs and rushing hair, and before he can spot Louis, Louis is already giving him all he has-- outloading what little blue paint he has on his chest, on his heart, on his face, anywhere.  
Harry skids to a halt just as Louis charges forwards, hoping to skirt past him into the opening, but somewhere along the next few seconds, they end up colliding, Louis’ feet becoming a tangled mess with Harry’s legs.  
And then, they’re on the floor, Louis’ chin resting on the splatters of blue paint lying on Harry’s chest, looking up awkwardly at Harry, who has flickers of every notable colour cambering over his neck and edges of hair.  
There’s a moment of silence. Harry looks so pretty right now-- freckles visible from this close, inked and obscured by every line and smudge of paint.  
“Gotcha,” Louis says, voice low.  
Harry is still panting, and Louis is sure, somehow, that they’re having a moment---  
But it’s short lived. Zayn suddenly charges through the opening, holding the gun at Louis, yelling something intelligible and grinning all at once.  
Louis genuinely thinks this is the end. But then, from behind him, just like the fucking Terminator, Sam pops up, shooting Zayn with the most vivacious, furious splatters of blue paint that Louis has ever seen.  
They win and come up with the silliest victory dance known to mankind.


	14. 10

Chapter 10

"The lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean  
And the fire that was starting to spark  
I miss it all, from the love to the lightning  
And the lack of it snaps me in two"  
\- Snow Patrol, New York

 

June, 2014

 

New York, in Harry’s opinion, has always been one of the best cities in the world, and this opinion doesn’t change now, as he gazes out of the window; mint green meeting a stony, grey waterfall of organisation. It calls out to him as he presses his nose nearly to the glass, watching the people walk down below, like tiny umbrella’d dots beneath the light rain, circular canvases of black and blue and all of the colours inbetween clattered by invisible bullets. He wonders where they’re going; where they’ve been.  
And for a moment, he seems to sit and reflect on this idea, moving away from the window to continue his yoga, shuffling the mat closer to the balcony doors and raising his arms. It’s been a good few months since he’s been able to do this properly, with all of the tour and everything; so it’s a good, familiar feeling that spreads across his lower stomach when the burn in his muscles begins to kindle, reminding him of stress long spent, memories long passed. He pushes himself against the sting, eyes fluttering shut, and lets his mind become completely empty.  
His toes curl on the mat in anticipation as he slowly changes positions, rain clattering down on the hotel complex roof; providing a natural and strong soundtrack for his quiet exercise. As he bends down, feet inches apart, a burn strongly residing in his calves and thighs and lower back, he opens his eyes once more. Through his parted legs, the sky looks so weird upside down--- almost like huge, grey breadsticks sticking down through his curtain of hair--- but it doesn’t deter the warm feeling in his stomach nonetheless as he remembers, for what feels like the fiftieth time, where he is-- Because every minute is the best in New York.  
He just--- he loves this city. All of it. The sprawled, tidy chaos, the way everything and everyone has their own purposes and goals and structures, the way that it’s awake at every hour, filled with millions upon millions of people with dreams and passions and goals and futures and pasts and it’s just--- It’s just so--- so---vibrant.  
Around every corner, around every building, there’s a different story. And he never grows sick of it. Louis is the only person that seems to understand Harry’s obsession with New York. Everytime they’re here, they go through the same ritual: Times Square, Coney Island, and then, the Chelsea Market. Where they eat is just a matter of coincidence, and what they do in each place, is just left to chance. But, despite all of this, it’s tradition.  
And Harry loves tradition.  
So even when he’s drawn out of his yoga by an unexpected knock on the door (rude), even when he opens the door to find Louis there (denim jacket and backpack on, like it’s the most natural thing in the world), even when he’s a little hesitant to go out today (he was doing yoga, c’mon, and it’s raining), and even when it feels like they haven’t done it for absolute decades (despite the fact that Louis doesn’t even ask him first)--- Harry can’t find it in him to say no.  
And so the day is spent; a montage of ducking under shelter and giggling at buskers, eating chilli hot dogs at stalls, sightseeing despite the grey skies and the odd circumstances. For a while, it feels like nothing has changed at all. Louis is himself, of course-- snide comments, breathy laughs, grabby hands and thinly veiled curiosity. And Harry, as always, is Harry: the idiot madly in love with him.  
It’s evening that they get back; a mess of giggly smiles and elbows, heading backstage to prepare for the night’s concert. In fact, it’s walking past one of the prep rooms that they first hear it-- the voice.  
“Come on now. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”  
It’s Oli, in the room they’re passing. Louis is instantly alerted by Oli’s tone of voice, hushing Harry almost instantly as they near the door. It’s ajar, but barely. Louis pushes it open slightly, a frown on his face. He can see a sliver of Sam’s leg. Harry, being Harry, is a little slower to catch on.  
“Told you, didn’t I?” Sam answers, tone clipped.  
She shuffles left a little, so that she’s on the edge of the sofa, moving into Louis’ section of vision. A frown is on her face, her lips pursed, and she looks like she’s either really frustrated, really uncomfortable, or an unlucky combination of both. Cal and Oli are sat next to her, head dipped, eyes content.  
Harry glances at Louis, a small frown crumpling his brow. Louis simply shrugs.  
“It’s so obvious it’s embarrassing, really.” Cal interjects, rolling his eyes.  
“First it was the hair. Now the flowered shirts. Soon he’s going to be running around on stage with a fucking rainbow flag, I’m telling ya.” Oli adds, disgusted.  
“We’re two members away from renaming this band ‘Other Direction’, anyway.” Cal sing songs, receiving a snort from Oli.  
It’s quite obvious that they’re trying to impress Sam, but she looks like she’s about to vomit. Harry stops in his tracks when it sinks in what they’ve said, mouth going slack.  
They were---- they were talking about him.  
Louis is shell shocked, frozen in place. For a moment, it seems like nothing is going to happen.  
But then, Cal snorts, reaching out to touch Sam’s arm. “Don’t you think that’s right, Sam?”  
“Hey, you better watch it, pal.” Sam says, scowling, jerking her arm away and moving to stand up.  
It’s then that she spots Louis and Harry peering in through the crack, and looks a little alarmed. Cal and Oli turn to join her, mouths going slack.  
Louis swallows, pushes the door open the rest of the way, and then, says---“Thank you, Sam. I’ll take it from here.”  
She rushes up and towards the door, grabbing Harry’s arm on the way. He lets himself be spun and towed away, beyond confused.  
“What was that about?” Harry asks her, once they’re in the hallway. Sam shakes her head, placing her hands on her arms.  
“Shuuussshhh. I want to hear what he has to say.”  
And well, if he’s being honest, Harry doesn’t know how he feels about eavesdropping. It’s not the invasion of privacy, or anything-- which he’d usually be quite bothered with--- it’s that he really doesn’t know how Louis will react. He’s so different with his buddies than he is with him. And Louis has broken his trust so many times before, known to be particularly volatile when this subject is brought up...  
His moment of deliberation is suddenly broken as Louis speaks, voice clear through the gap. “What? Nothing to say? You two were very chatty just a second ago.”  
“Umm...” Oli and Cal look like rabbits caught in headlights; faces paling, awkward glances directed to the floor.  
“Who were you talking about just now, huh?” Louis asks, even though he knows. He’s met with silence, so he continues.“Surely it wasn’t Harry. Surely I imagined it. There’s no way my friends who I have invited to tag along for free on this tour would not talk about my best friend in that way.”  
“Hey, don’t talk to us that way!” Cal argues, brow dipping. “We’ve known you since childhood! We’re your best friends!”  
“Some friends you are! Why would you say something like this?” Louis is on a roll now, shoulders dipping and rising as he jugs his hands to and fro in his jacket pockets. “About the kindest human being who ever walked this fuckin’ earth at that, huh?”  
Harry’s stomach lurches.  
“You know what, no.” Louis isn’t done yet, tilting his head, pulling one hand out of his jacket pockets to rest it in the air. “Why would you talk like that about anybody at all? Would you say those things about Zayn or Liam?”  
Or me, Louis finishes, in his head. He masks his doubt with anger.  
“It’s too much! We don’t care they are gay, you know that!” Oli protests, arms splayed in the air. “Harry just doesn’t have to throw it in everybody’s face every chance he gets! Look at Zayn and Liam, I mean, they’re discreet!”  
“Is this the kind of band you really wanna be in, Lou? A bunch of fags singing cheesy songs to self deprecating fat girls?” Cal adds, tone pleading. “C’mon, I’m sure it irritates you too!”  
“Clearly, you don’t know me as well as you think.” Louis says, coldly.  
“What?” Oli chuckles, but it’s not friendly. He stands up. “What do you mean by that? What’s gotten into you? You used to think that way too-- don’t make us the bad guys here!”  
Oli is right. Louis is such a hypocrite sometimes, and you know, he knows that. It’s just a part of who he is right now. But he’d be damned, really fucking damned, if he subjected Harry, or anyone else, to another second of this homophobic bullshit.  
He brought this. They’re his responsibility, his burden, his fault.  
So he makes a decision; bites the bullet. “Get out. Get your stuff. Get the fuck out.” Louis points towards the door. He surprises himself by meaning it. “I want you on the first flight home. I don’t want you on my tour anymore.”  
Cal and Oli are in shock, eyes wide, brows crumpling. They probably think he’s being unfair.  
“Wow.” Oli says, and then, he scowls. There’s an awkward silence between them. Louis just stands his ground, eyes on the floor. And then, Oli states, lips formed into a scowl--- “Your parents will be so ashamed of you.”  
And at that, Louis falls into a blind rage and punches him with all he has. Harry hurdles into the room, alarmed, heart hammering, panic setting into his head and blinding his morals. Sam is wide eyed behind him, her hand on her mouth.  
They watch, horrified, as Oli staggers up, spluttering, holding his jaw. There’s a certain fury in his eyes, and before anyone can react, his fist is in the air, pounding down into Louis’ face with a sickening thump, and Louis is reeling back, clutching his cheek.  
They’re both trying to grab at each other, both trying to do each other serious harm, when Harry steps in, grabbing Louis around the waist, and hoisting him away. Cal does the same to Oli, standing feebly to hold back his shoulders. The room falls silent. Louis is still thrashing, trying to get to Oli, thrusting his arms and his legs all over. Harry is holding him still, grabbing his wrists, making it so that he can’t escape.  
“Don’t.” Harry murmurs, right into Louis’ ear. “They’re not worth it.”  
At that, Louis seems to stir. He looks up, glaringly, and points a shaky, taught hand towards Cal and Oli. “I never want to see you two again.”

**

“Ow.” Louis reels back, hissing at Harry’s touch. The entire left side of his face looks swollen right now; dressing room lights universally known for being poor. He’s sat on a table right now, legs dangling above a box filled with cosmetics and props, and his gaze on the floor. Harry huffs at this response, raising an eyebrow and the ice pack all at once.  
“Don’t be such a baby, Lou.” Harry says, a tiny, enamored smile curved on his lips.  
“It hurts like hell.” Louis whines.  
The bruising is mostly on his left cheekbone, but the red colouring of his face holds a presence right down to where his stubble lies. The knuckles on his right hand sit swollen, and angry-- mountains of frustration ebbing as a reminder to the former situation. His hand is red all the way to his wrist, where the pigment dies down, and his skin gives way to a rolled up denim sleeve. His hair, whilst unruly, sort of seems tragic to Harry at the same time right now-- drooping at the tips, troubled and rocky, like a bad night at sea. If Harry and Louis were in a boat, Harry wonders if Louis would cast him out to sea.  
“I bet.” He says, instead, tentatively dipping the ice pack back to Louis’ face.  
He winces, lips drawing back in a hiss, but seems to manage with it this time, watching Harry as he attentively presses the cold surface against his skin; water droplets meshing with the purple. There’s a beat of silence then, a beat of peace. Harry continues his movements, so very slowly, standing there with the same sort of serenity that clings to the setting sun and all of the clouds. And then, he lowers the ice pack, remembering something.  
“You defended my honour.” He grins, dimples carving into either side of his face, cheekiness written into each cave. “It was very hot.”  
“Stop it.” Louis sombers, frown ebbing onto his face. “I didn’t do anything...I didn’t do enough. I should have never brought them in the first place.”  
“Hey, hey. C’mon. ” Harry puts down the ice pack, replacing it’s touch with his hands, cupping either side of Louis’ face like speakers.  
But, coincidentally, ends up touching the injury.  
“Ow, Ow.” Louis puts his hand on Harry’s, stilling the movement, reducing the damage. Harry notes that his hand is still on his cheek, but buried beneath layers of fingers.  
“Sorry, sorry.” Harry mumbles, voice a whisper.  
And then, tentatively, he kisses Louis’ cheek.  
“Better?” He whispers, pulling away.  
Louis is sheepish, lips curving into a small smile. “Much.”  
And then, the spell is broken, as it so often is, by Niall clattering clumsily into the room, Sam at his heels.  
“Where are they?” He fumes. “Tell me! I’m going to murder their sorry arses!”  
Harry takes a step back.  
“Don’t worry, they’re gone.” Louis says, glancing up at him. “Al’s taking them to collect their things as we speak.”  
“Oh.” Niall says. His shoulders go slack all of a sudden, movements halted, rampage forgotten. Sam shakes her head at him, smiling nonetheless.  
“Good. Good. Um, carry on then.” He says, batting his hands awkwardly, unsure of what to do next.  
Louis and Harry just laugh at his deflated face.  
**  
After the show, when the arena is sparsely populated and the place is quiet, Louis finds himself on the roof. Not the main arena roof, of course-- that would be ridiculous-- but to the left of it, lonely and abandoned, there’s a little square shed. It’s on top of this shed, on top of the flat roof, that Louis finds himself, smoking a joint, lying flat on the floor. His hair is splayed out all over the tiling. He looks up at the stars, all connected by the endless night, and thinks.  
He’s weirdly sad, you know. It’s not that he regrets what he did, because he doesn’t. He could never have let what they said slide and looked at himself in the mirror again. It’s just that--- Louis is a very loyal person, through and through. So cutting his two oldest friends out of his life is hard, even if it’s for Harry. Even if he wouldn’t have it any other way, it’s still hard. Because if his oldest friends can’t love him for who he is, then who can? If he can’t even trust his gut about his friends, how is he going to make new ones without being suspicious about their motives?  
“I’m sorry about your friends.”  
Louis jolts his head to the side. Standing atop the huge green bin beside the shed, clambering onto it’s roof too, stands Sam. She shuffles beside him, takes the joint clean from his hand. Figures. She has a tendency to not know about boundaries.  
“Why? They were twats.” Louis says.  
“I know.” She lies down beside him, her curls spread out.  
The New York sky is clear tonight-- sprinkles of white dashed against a never ending, ever beautiful, black canvas. Louis feels like he could stare up at forever, wonders who else in the world is feeling this way. It’s a bit weird, if he’s going to be completely honest. Sometimes, it just blows him-- it really blows him, you know-- how big, and how gorgeous, this planet can be. It’s just-- so--- immense. And to think that there’s other things out there too? It blows his mind.  
“Still, it must be hard on you. You’ve known them your entire life.” Sam says. “And you don’t seem like the type of guy who makes friends easily.”  
A gust of freezing wind slices across Louis’ neck, arousing goosebumps there. He chuckles, despite the cold. “You’d be wrong. Ask the others, I befriended them before we were even put in a band.”  
“How many new real friends did you make since you became famous?” She grins.  
“Touché.” They pass the joint back and forth for a while, taking in the darkness.  
“Thank you for being on Harry’s corner.” Louis says, after a while, not making eye contact.  
“Right back atcha.” Sam says.  
Louis huffs and nods. “Maybe I should steal a page from Harry’s book. He makes friends easily, I mean-- look at you.”  
Sam laughs. “That’s the best thing you can do.”  
“He’s pretty amazing, isn’t he?” Louis says, ever-so-softly.  
The stars are so pretty.  
Sam turns to face him, a smile coating her face. “You love this boy, don’t you?”  
“How about you don’t bug me about Harry and I keep quiet about Niall? How does that sound?”  
“Fair enough.”

 

**

The plane ride to Boston is a quiet affair, filled with whispers and sleepy heads. They’re scheduled to have two shows there, but Louis isn’t exactly sure he’s looking forward to them. The sudden departure of Oli and Cal was a relief, but the circumstances took a toll on both the band and the crew. Plus, it raised, and continues to raise, a lot of attention that Louis doesn’t want to address. His head, quite honestly, is a mess.  
So, it’s with a heavy heart and a low stomach that Louis goes to the Gillette stadium, extremely tired but incredibly early. Soundcheck isn’t meant to start until eleven, but he couldn’t sleep, and the last thing he wants is for any more drama to take place in the wake of his little ‘dispute’. Sam and Niall are already there, playing a skiddy game of football in the empty space. The goal is two hoodies spread a small distance apart, and the ball is a shitty little rental that Niall, no doubt, managed to scrounge from one of the team.  
“I hate this game.” Niall says, lamely kicking the ball Sam's way.  
She laughs, standing at the goal. “It’s because you’re shit at it, sourpuss.”  
“Shut up. It’s my busted knee, is all.” He mumbles, a little frown on his face.  
“Haha. Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Sam says, spotting Louis. “Hi there, Polly Pocket.”  
It’s going to be a long day.  
“Hey, mop ‘ed.” Louis deadpans.  
“Stop flirting with my girl.” Niall says, as Sam kicks the ball back.  
“Not your girl!” -- “Not flirting!” Sam and Louis answer, almost simultaneously.  
“Why don’t you let the big boys do it, Ni?” Louis says, already catching the ball from Niall’s feet.  
“Be my guest. She’s not a very graceful winner though. I’m warning ya.” Niall answers, taking off, and heading towards the general backstage area.  
“Hey! Who says she’s gonna win?!” Louis shouts, after him.  
Niall just bats his hand and continues to walk.  
Louis turns to Sam, who’s already raising her eyebrows, hands on her hips.  
“Game on.”  
**  
And so they play. They’re both good, they’re both competitive, and they’re both relentless, but this is no new knowledge to Louis after the paintball game. But then, they were on the same team, but now, they’re playing against each other---and now, she plays dirty. So far, there’s been tripping, neck grabbing, pinching, and tickling.  
“That’s it, you’re going down!” Louis says, flustered, after she trips him.  
They’ve been playing for quite some time now, Louis reckons, because now, they have an audience. All of the band, and even some of the crew, are sat watching, baring laughter and chuckles for all to hear, and even letting Liam live comment now and then. There’s been regular cheering, and Louis has been able to catch some sentences from their impromptu crowd. Variations of “OOOOOhhh” “FOUL!” “OW, that’s gotta hurt.” and “Oh my god, she’s ruthless” all sound from behind them.  
And, you know, Louis is having fun, despite losing. But he is not a cheater, so he find a little solace in that.  
While redoing his shoelaces, breath held and ready for another gruelling round, he can’t help but overhear Niall and Harry talking, voices cutting through the crowd.  
“Louis stole my friend.” Harry mopes.  
“Louis beat up his, so…” Louis hears Niall shrug. “You know what, shut up! Louis stole my wife!”  
Harry laughs. “We’ll manage. He needs someone like her right now.”  
Niall sticks his bottom lip out. “Suppose you’re right.”  
Harry shakes his head. “Aren’t I always?”

**

The next day, Sam is in Louis’ room, because apparently, they’re friends now. They’re playing a videogame, legs sprawled over sofa, fingers madly dashing over buttons. Her phone keeps buzzing, which drives Louis a little crazy. But this moment is nice, you know? It’s quiet, for the most part, and Louis feels comfortable. Almost as if things are okay now. So there’s that. While she’s in the bathroom, Louis grabs her phone, because if it buzzes one more time, he’s going to end up throwing it against the wall. He means only to turn it on silent, but instead, he’s greeted with a text in all caps.  
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY GUUURL <3 <3 When are you coming home? I MISS YOU. You left me cold turkey to hang out with popstars. I hate u. xx. ---Ashley.”  
“Sam?” Louis calls, standing and walking to stand beside the bathroom door.  
“Mmmh?” She replies, talking from inside the bathroom.  
“Is it your birthday?”  
“Mhmmaybe?” The door unlocks, and she walks out, clearly flushed.  
“Why didn’t you say anything? Does Harry know? Does Niall know?” Louis is frowning now, feeling a tad betrayed.  
“We have a deal, remember?” She rolls her eyes, moving to sit back down on the sofa.  
“You’re kidding. Clearly, this calls for a breach of contract.” Louis can’t believe what she’s saying. “Birthdays are very important.”  
“Would you drop it, please? I’m not in the mood to celebrate anything.” She bats her arms at him, already heading for her controller. She’s a mixture of sad and frustrated.  
“Is it because you’re going home soon?” Louis says, still stood up. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.  
She raises her eyebrows, green eyes widening. “Wow. Speaking of which, I have to book my flight today.”  
She grabs Louis’ laptop, resting precariously beside the sofa, and logs onto her airline account. She hits the ‘buy’ button with the biggest amount of theatrics Louis’ ever seen before pushing the computer away, evidently upset.  
“There. Done.” She says, laughing. “Seven days left. Start the countdown. Where’s my fucking parade?”  
She begins to laugh, but Louis sees right through it. He sees she’s trying to hide her sorrow in jokes, and knows it, because he’s done it more times than he can number.  
“We’ll make them count, I promise.” He answers, sweetly.  
Sam gasps. Tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes, clouding the dark green and making her lips quaver. “Fuck. Don’t make me cry, you bugger.”  
Louis smiles, before sitting down on the sofa, and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She places her head squarely on his chest, and for once, Louis doesn’t feel so small.  
“Yeah.” He says, voice quiet, almost as an afternote. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your non existant makeup.”

**

So... Louis may or may not have put an addendum in his contract with Sam.  
Maybe, just maybe, he told Niall, who, past the first moment of surprise, couldn’t help but organise a surprise party on the spot after the show. It was very last minute, but being a popstar has some perks, Louis supposes, even if those perks seem like a pain in the ass to everyone else.  
Niall wasn’t the only one that didn’t know. Harry was not only both very sad not to have been in on the secret, but very happy to go shopping for the perfect present with Louis. In the end, they decided on something both funny and heartfelt; customized Vans with Niall’s cheeky face on, and a photo album compiled of her time with One Direction.  
They made up the latter by themselves, laid on Harry’s bed, laptop resting between the both of them. Some of the pictures have been taken by Sam herself, others by Harry, and the rest just bits and bobs. Harry, being the neat freak that he is, has been collecting photos for years, and all it takes Louis is one little mouse scroll to access them all. It’s quite useful in the moment, a little scary in Louis’ opinion.  
But it’s all good. It’s worth seeing all of the photos Louis didn’t even know existed before now.  
“I love this one.” He says, prodding towards a brightly-lit photograph of the boys on stage. It makes them look like it’s just them in the darkness, surrounded by little lights-turned-stars.  
Harry laughs, scrolling down a little. “Oh my god, I forgot about this!”  
It’s a picture of Louis and Niall midway a food fight, both looking guiltily at the camera, eyes wide and being caught. There’s a smearing of jam on Niall’s face, and Louis has the remnants of a pie smudged into his fringe. Louis cringes at the sight now.  
“Remember this one?” Louis points.  
It’s simple photo of the two of them, taken the very first day they met. Harry is swaddled in a thick scarf, cheeks bright, and his shoulders up in the air. Louis is radiant beside him, fringe nearly hiding his eyes, smile brighter than the sun and all of the stars.  
“How could I forget?” Harry smiles, nostalgia washing over him.  
But all he can hear in his head is a quote, loud and ringing:-

I’ve got a special place inside me that’s all for you  
It’s been there since the day we met

**

That night, in the packed arena, surrounded by lights and screams, Niall announces that they’re not playing a new song, which instantly provokes a shocked reaction from the crowd. Because how dare they? Harry knows the fans love the new regime, and his newsfeed on Twitter is constantly filled with their responses, conspiracies, and theories. He loves it, and feels, after four years of silence, this is their way of giving something back. Something from the heart.  
“Instead, we’re playing on old one.” Niall says, and the crowd suddenly begin to scream, ecstatic, already shouting song names in attempts to guess correctly. “In honor of Sam, the most stubborn, most difficult, most wonderful woman that’s ever walked this earth. She was born twenty years ago today. Happy birthday, darling!”  
Sam is on the screen, beet red, her head in her hands, bless her soul. Louis and Harry lock eyes and in this moment, everyone is happy. The world is made up of heart flutters and adrenaline.  
“This is She’s Not Afraid.” Zayn introduces. He’s beaming like there’s no tomorrow, cheeks unusually round and full, glee sparking in his eyes.  
And Harry isn’t sure if she is afraid, but they certainly aren’t. All throughout the song, the stage is alive-- Harry on his knees for the high notes, Niall over-exaggerating his facial expressions when singing “falling in loOOOoooOOVE” because he’s basically--quite plainly-- a dork, Louis constantly trying to urge Sam on the stage, Zayn and Liam doing these cutesy little movements to each and every lyric at the front, the fans bursting out into intense laughter everytime Liam decides it’s a good idea to play the ghost at the word “afraid”-- and well, it’s perfect.  
Just like the old days.  
At the end of the song, Sam looks starstriken. In the moment, she’s a million pounds, hands pressed to embarrassed, red cheeks, tears streaking down her fingertips.  
“Thank you,” She mouths, once her face is on the screen again.  
Niall just smiles, incredibly proud, in response.

**

The surprise party is a success, and, as far as Louis is concerned, incredibly perfect.  
The hotel club is filled with light and sound, and Niall has the entire ceiling decked out in green and gold balloons, the majority of the guests now trying to pop them all with badly aimed poker sticks and strawberry canes from the buffet bar. Louis sits by the side of it, taking in the party, eyes moving from guest to guest, the floor positively rippling with the beat of the music  
(Since when was clubbing this loud and bright?)  
He takes a small sip from his drink. Usually, he’d be out there, with the rest of the guys, letting loose, but now, he feels...He doesn’t know. Almost as if he should stay quiet for a while.  
Sam and Niall are dancing giddily in the middle of the floor, having the time of their lives, Niall wearing what looks like a huge fedora atop his blonde waves, Sam either trying to do the robot or some kind of disco wave. Either way, they’re having fun, and Louis isn’t going to be the one to interrupt them. He takes another sip of his drink.  
Nah. He’s definitely not envious of their happiness, or anything….  
He continues to watch them, posture quiet, and then, of course, when he ponders further into this idea of happiness, his eyes find Harry across the room. Louis can’t believe how long his hair has gotten. Looking at him now, his appearance is more akin to a purring lion than the tiny, red-faced cherub he first met-- and Louis isn’t entirely sure how that makes him feel. Taking another sip of his drink, they meet eyes, and then, Louis makes a note in his head of how pretty Harry looks right now.  
Shone upon. Flashed purple in the strobe lights.  
Harry giggles, motioning towards Sam and Niall. Niall has now, somehow, found his way into acquiring a cue stick from the pool table, and he’s on the bottom end of it, the tip in his mouth, and she’s trying to pour vodka down the middle of it.  
Oh, lord. They’re trying to use it as a funnel.  
Louis snorts, and it’s then he realizes how truly tipsy he feels, the many drinks from earlier shifting and settling upon his senses. He glances up to Harry again. He’s carrying a cup of his own, but his other hand is outstretched, beckoning to Louis.  
“Come over here,” He mouths.  
Louis rolls his eyes, downs the rest of his drink, and walks over. Harry’s stood just beside an overenthusiastic DJ player with teeth the size of dinner plates, and from where he stands, everybody else's’ chatter is warped into silence.  
“Hi.” Louis says. He can barely hear himself think over the music.  
“Hi.”  
“They’re cute, those two.” He takes Harry’s drink, and also a sip from it.  
Harry watches him, smiling. “I know.”  
“Do you think he’s ready?”  
Harry turns to look at them again. “I think he has been for a long time.”  
“Do you…” Louis swallows. “Do you think she loves him yet?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Think they’ll be alright?” Louis turns back to look at them. He hands Harry back his cup.  
Harry is tender now voice low, eyes on the ground. “I think that good things come to those who wait.”

 

**

So everyone is drunk.  
If you want an indication of how drunk they are: Sam and Louis are laughing at every joke Harry tells.  
So very, very, drunk.  
Louis soon finds himself trotting around the club almost aimlessly, high -fiving people he’s never seen before in his life, drinking from any cup he can get his hands on. His wobbly path soon takes him back to the bar, where Sam is running towards him, two very full, very foamy drinks in either of her hands.  
“Who is this one for?” Louis asks. He’s meant to be pointing at the drink, but instead, ends up pointing at one of his feet.  
“It is for you, my little baby Chihuahua.” Sam slurs, shaking her head as she hands the drink over.  
“Chihuahua?!?” Louis protests, scowling. “No! I’m a Pitbull! I’m a Rottweiler!”  
“I know what you are. You’re all bark and no bite.” She gurgles, drink spilling down her front. “Plus you’re tiny, and you have these baby little ears…. therefore, Chihuahua. Tadaaa.”  
She does a little bow, but her movements are cut short by a laugh, loud and blunt, originating from behind them. They both turn. Next to the bar, a girl is talking to Niall. She looks nothing like Sam, and is, quite inevitably, model standard-- tall, skinny, blonde, with the straightest, longest hair. She’s wearing high heels and a skintight, Prada-esque dress, and Louis does have to admit that Niall is a lot closer to her than he should be.  
The girl says something, and Niall bursts out into another laugh, clapping his knees.  
Louis glances back to Sam. Her bottom lip is wavering, and she’s holding on to her drink tight as anything. He doesn’t realize she’s crying before a huge, fat tear drops into her drink with a loud slosh, and then, she’s turning, and then, she’s rushing.  
Louis follows her, panic in his head. She’s elbowing and pushing her way through the crowd, making it through, but she’s a lot faster than Louis, and he soon gets caught up in a conga line that has no intention of stopping. When the conga clears, she’s gone.  
“Fuck.” He says, running his hands through his hair.  
There are two exits out of the club, and there’s no sign of her out of either. When he makes it back into the club, Niall is oblivious, still chatting loudly to the blonde girl. Louis cuts Niall out of his little peace bubble by whacking him on the back of his head.  
“Ow! What did you do that for?” Niall says, head dipping, face egressing into a scowl.  
“I’ll see you around, Niall.” The girl says, albeit nervously, before sinking into the crowd.  
Louis waits until she’s gone before turning back to Niall, brow furrowed, saying-- “Flirting with a girl? Today of all days? Really?”  
“First of all, I’m not flirting.” Niall answers, very much irritated by Louis’ attitude, “Second, I’m not with Sam, she’s made that very clear, and third, what are you on about today, of all days? I planned a whole birthday party for her, didn’t I?”  
And it strikes Louis that Niall still doesn’t know that Sam is going home soon. A pang of alarm strikes him, and then, it floats into sadness, spreading a cold, icy chill throughout his stomach and an itch at the back of his throat.  
“Oh. She… She’s going home.” Louis replies, voice filled with sorrow. “She bought her ticket today. Her father cut her off.”  
“Wh..?” Niall is in shock now, eyebrows flying through the roof. “Why didn’t she…? Where is she?”  
“I don’t know. She left a few minutes ago. She was crying.”  
Niall fumbles for his phone, panic written all over his face.  
“She’s not answering, don’t bother.” Louis adds.  
But Niall just ignores him and tries anyway, face red with worry, lips pursed with urgency. And after what feels like thousands and thousands of declined calls and texts later, they get back to the hotel.  
She’s not there.

**

After breakfast, there’s still no news from Sam. At this point, they’re starting to go a little crazy, and the fact that they can’t search for her anymore, thanks to the show tonight, is not exactly helping. So it’s with exhausted and pessimistic attitudes that they finally slump into the dressing room of the stadium, retiring from their hunt, stomachs teeming with guilt.  
And of course, by course of habit, Sam is there.  
As they step inside the dressing room, there’s a moment of silence. She’s sat one of the big, leather chairs, being pampered by Lou. She’s wearing a tight, red dress that is almost skin-tight around the waist and hips (she hates dresses) a pair of chunky, wavering heels (what?), and a thick, dark palette of makeup that is both overdone and unnecessary.  
But the thing that strikes Niall the most isn’t the makeup. It’s the hair, turning straight at the tips, as Lou obliviously tows through it, and the determined, nonchalant grimace on Sam’s face.  
“What’s up, guys?” She says, casually, ignoring both the broken silence and the lowered, confused jaws in front of her.  
“What are you doing?” Niall is extremely pissed as he steps forward, face hard, taught, worn.  
“Straightening her hair.” Lou deadpans, eyebrows raised, continuing her work. “What does it look like I’m doing?”  
“What are you doing?” Niall asks Sam again, taking another step forward.  
Sam’s eyes fall to her feet. But before she can even say a word, he’s rushing forwards, taking her by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder. The straighteners fall out of her hair and down onto the dressing room floor, clattering on the marble. Lou lets out a burst of protest at the destruction of her hair straighteners, but Niall doesn’t hear it, partly because he’s rushing out of the room, Sam placed squarely on his shoulder, and partly because she’s wailing at the top of her voice.  
“Put me down! Put me down! Niall! come on! It’s not funny!”  
Harry considers intervening, brow furrowed, but Louis stops him, placing a gentle hand on his chest and shaking his head.  
Some things you just gotta leave, his eyes say.  
Niall ended up with one of the biggest dressing rooms this year; the full outlook, equipped with both an on-suite and two huge, looming wardrobes. It doesn’t mean he uses either of them, though-- and Sam learns this the hard way as he stumbles across random, stooping piles of clothes and errant pizza boxes to get to the door. The on-suite is positively massive, and once inside, Sam’s shouts of protests are echoed right across the ceiling and the floor and the window, and it continues to be that way until he shoves her in the shower, fully clothed, and turns on the tap.  
And then, it becomes even worse. She’s a mixture of angry and upset and confused as she stands there, getting doused by the water, her dress sticking to her hair and her makeup trailing madly down her face. He keeps her there as she tries in vain to get out of the shower, swearing and fuming and screaming and dripping. Her fists clench and bash, harmlessly, at his chest, and for a while, he just stands there, fringe dripping in the shower blast, shouting back.  
And then there’s an odd moment of silence as the both of them catch their breath-- Sam wiping furiously at her eyes, splaying remnants of mascara down the drain-- Niall trying to keep his bottom lip from shaking as much as it does when he’s mad.  
And then, he holds her forearms, grasping them tightly, and says---“Why are you doing this? Do you think I care about any of this? Huh?”  
Water is everywhere. It clings and drips down Niall’s god-how-many-pounds designer jacket, bloating up the sleeves, making his hair dirty and brown, and clattering down, against his shoes. His skin is cold and littered with droplets, his shoulders the same. Sam looks up at him, fully sobbing now, bashing her wrists and fists against his chest, his shoulders, wherever she can reach---  
“It’s not for you! It’s… it’s... for me... And nothing to do with you! You self---” She bashes him, “Centered--” She bashes him, “Asshole!”  
“Stop lying! I don’t believe you!”  
She’s full on sobbing right now, black, clotted tear trails staining paths down the front of her dress, and dripping, loudly, onto the bottom of the shower. The marble below becomes a hurricane of jet and nothingness as it gurgles the water down, down, down, into the drain.  
“I.. I don’t…” She struggles.  
And then, he sniffs, taking her in his arms, holding her tight. She’s sobbing into his chest, now, her wrists free, his fingertips stroking through the back of her hair. He can feel her heartbeat.  
“Don’t you think that if I wanted a model, I could have one?” He says, then, a lot more calmer.  
She nods frantically in the crook of his neck, curls sticking to his skin.  
“Do you really think I want a model?”  
She just shrugs at that, still not looking at him, the sobbing dying down.  
It’s then that he pulls back from her, eyes warm, hands moving to hold her shoulders. The gap between them is closing, marked only by the trail of water clattering down onto the back of Sam’s head and down onto Niall’s chest. He looks so soft right now; so gentle.  
“I only want you, Sam.” He says, voice so quiet, it’s barely there, and it’s then that he places a wet, close hand on her cheek, and she leans into his touch---  
\---and then, he kisses her.  
He crashes into her like he has nothing to lose, and she holds onto him for dear life, the space between them nonexistent.  
And the world stops for a while, for one does not fall in love, one grows into love; and when it grows into you, it’s time stopping and consuming all at once.

**

About half an hour later, Sam comes out of the dressing room, hair wet, and tucked neatly under Niall’s shoulder.  
“Lads, I have an announcement to make.” She says, as Harry and Louis look on with parted lips. “Hunter is finally officially retired.”  
Fucking finally.

**  
“Stop smiling.”  
“I can’t.” Sam giggles.  
“Yes, you can, see, it’s really not that hard.” Louis rolls his eyes.  
Sam has been smiling so much these past few days that it’s making Louis get second-hand toothache. He is happy for her, through. And Niall. But, apparently, not as much as Harry, who, as the resident hopeless romantic, has spent the past few days reliving every moment of every date with her. But still, Louis is happy. He’s happy that they’re happy.  
And he supposes that’s what young love makes you; happy. He knows the stages. Firstly, it’s the butterflies. Secondly, it’s the burn in your throat and the smile on your face; almost immovable. Thirdly, it’s the warmth. You get a warm, happy spread in your stomach, and it makes you feel like life is worth living and the stars are beneath your fingertips. And now, he guesses he’s watching Sam and Niall go through these stages.  
And he guesses these stages are the stages of many early relationships, even though he can’t remember feeling like this with El. Or Hannah. But, nonetheless, he figures he can be let off on those ones, because the early times of their relationships were ages ago, and being in love isn’t a totally foreign concept to him.  
So there’s that.  
“But that’s what happens when you’re happy, Lou.” Sam says, resting her legs atop of his on the sofa. “You should really try it sometimes.”  
“You can go fuck yourself. Please and thank you.” Louis deadpans, raising the magazine.  
“Already did today.” She barks. “Well, at least, Niall did.”  
“Oh my god, you’re worse than him.” Louis says, throwing a pillow square in her face. “You’re clearly made for each other.”  
“I know.” She smiles big at that, even bigger if it was even possible, the redness of her cheeks matching her strawberry tank top.  
“What are you going to do, though?” Louis says. “Aren’t you supposed to fly back home, like, in two days?”  
And the award for the best Party Pooper of the century goes to… Louis Tomlinson!  
“I don’t know yet.” She sobers up. “We don’t talk about it. It’s so new and fun and good and sweet. I think neither of us has the heart to bring it up yet.”  
“You’re gonna have to at some point.”  
She just sighs at that, looking like a kicked puppy.  
Louis sure can rain on a fucking parade and he hates himself a little for it, because people used to seek his company for guidance and comfort, not only for fun and sarcasm.  
What the hell happened to him?  
“I may have a solution for you.” He suddenly blurts, a concentrated frown forming on his brow.  
Sam is now face down on a pillow, her curls splayed out evenly, the very portrait of theatrical desperation. “If you tell me to ask him for money, I swear to god--”  
“What if---” Louis sits up, tucking his legs beneath his body-- “What if you earned money on this tour?”  
“What are you on about, I--”  
“Cal used to be the official photographer on this tour, you know that right? We’re short a photographer now,...” Louis looks at her, expectantly.  
“I’m in no way qualified to take pictures of the biggest band in world. Are you kidding? It’s not funny!” Her face is flushed red.  
“Well I was serious, but I’m also short an assistant now, too, if you’d rather take on that role--”  
She hits him with the pillow.  
“Not in a million years will I attend to the needs of a diva such as yourself. I’d rather go back to England and be away from my man. I’m that serious.” She raises her eyebrows.  
They both laugh at that.  
“What do you say?” Louis shuffles a little closer, mind latched on the solution. “It would a terrific experience to put on your resume…”  
She’s biting her lip and smiling, clearly considering it. “Talk to the others about it first. If they say yes, then, FUCK YES!”  
Louis grins, nodding, satisfied. “Cool.”  
She smiles. “You’re really good at this, you know. I didn’t believe him, but you really are.”  
“Who---” He begins, but then, his mind conjures up the answer to his own question.  
Harry.  
“Listening, giving advice and shit. Finding solutions to problems... he was right you know.” Sam tucks her knees up to her chin.  
“Careful Sammy, you’re breaching the contract here…” Louis warns.  
“I’m amending it, just like you did about Niall like two minutes ago.”  
“Fair enough.”  
They both giggle at that and lie back down.  
“He’s in love with you, you know that, right?” She asks him, kind and soft.  
There’s a beat of silence.  
“I know.” Louis says, voice barely a whisper, eyes on the ceiling.  
“Since you didn’t bite my head off, I’m going to take this as permission to do a follow up question.” she laughs.  
“Shhhh. I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap.”  
“Of course you are.” She says, getting up, shaking her head and heading towards the door.

**

“Our first born will be named after you, I swear.” Niall says, when Louis brings up the photographer gig for Sam at the band meeting.  
The worst part is that Louis doesn’t even think he’s joking.  
Niall gets up, holds Louis’ shoulders, and plops a fat, loud kiss on the side of Louis’ cheek, for effect. Zayn and Liam nod their agreement at his statement, and as Louis looks over to Harry--  
Well, Harry’s another story altogether. He looks so proud of Louis right now-- small smile, warm eyes, round cheeks.  
Louis could cry.

**

Harry and Louis are good. In fact, they’ve never been better, and Louis can honestly say their friendship is back on track-- barriers fallen, shoulder to shoulder once more. Louis has the feeling that Harry trusts him again, and this feeling, well, it’s everything. It’s HarryandLouis against the world again, unstoppable, unquestionable. So when Harry announces that he’s going to unveil a new song about friendship, Louis knows it’s about him.  
He can’t really hide the pride he’s feeling inside.  
“Detroiiiit!” Harry screams, like the fucking rock star he’s becoming. “You seem like a crowd that can appreciate a nice song about friendship. This is Friends!”  
“Hell yes!” Zayn shouts, nodding his head. Niall and Liam cheer.  
Louis beams big at that, wallowing in pride, and Harry simply smiles. A slightly wistful, watery smile, the smile of a person who has everything and nothing to lose.  
But Louis is doing okay. In fact, he doesn’t even question the motive of the song until the first few lines are sung, and wow.  
It’s like a punch in the gut, his head and his heart being washed away.  
Like everything he’s ever known is at sea, lost in the waves.

We're not, no we're not friends, nor have we ever been.  
We just try to keep those secrets in a lie,  
And if they find out, will it all go wrong?  
And Heaven knows, no one wants it to.

So I could take the back road  
But your eyes will lead me straight back home.  
And if you know me like I know you  
You should love me, you should know.

Friends just sleep in another bed,  
And friends don't treat me like you do.  
Well I know that there's a limit to everything,  
But my friends won't love me like you.  
No, my friends won't love me like you.

Louis is deflating like a sad balloon, panic constricting his chest, eyes nearly watering as Harry continues to sing. He finds that he can’t stand anymore, his knees wobbling and weak, his hands having to grip onto the side of the stage. But yet, he can’t stop listening. He’s bound.  
His panic must show, however, because Niall comes up to him, slinging his arm over Louis’ shoulder, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world to do. Zayn and Liam send him sad, emphatic looks.  
And Harry? Harry is carefully avoiding Louis’ gaze as he keeps singing.  
Because what the fuck? What is this?  
What is this?  
It feels like a fucking intervention, that’s what it feels like. And Louis does what he does best when he’s feeling trapped--- he runs.  
And as he leaves the venue without a word to anyone, slipping off the stage, batting off concerned hands and words and glances, he feels like the entire world has been turned on it’s axis.  
And as he walks back to his hotel, the dark, cold air pummeling waves against his face and his neck and his shoulders, there’s one lyric in the back of his head, bringing comfort in his loneliness.  
We're not friends, we could be anything.


	15. 12

Chapter 12

 

“Hold me tight 'cos it's always been you  
(It's always been you)  
To think that you were always there  
(Always there)  
To be my friend and wipe away my tears  
Now it's clear that it's always been you”  
\- Honeyz, Finally Found

 

♫ Six years old….♫

Harry is sat atop a speaker backstage, headphones in his ears, head gently bobbing to the beat. He’s watching the crew hurry around him, like he doesn’t exist, and it’s… nice.  
He likes not being a bother sometimes.

♫ Staring at my nose in the mirror… ♫

He swings his legs back and forth. It’s only slightly cold, hints of breeze tugging at his skin, and he sits knowing that the rest of the boys have gone home, either residing in their hotel rooms or hanging out with friends. He didn’t expect them to stay, and for once, is starting to feel okay with the prospect of being alone for a bit.

♫ Trying to dip my toes in the mirror… ♫

The air is calm, the scene peaceful. He’s immersed in the music, deep tones striking a mark deep down, beneath his stomach, where all of the rest of his feelings go. Recently, music has been his only consistent comfort.  
”Soooo...what was that song about?”  
A soft, undemanding voice cuts Harry clean from his thoughts, causing his head to tip up, his headphones to spill from his ears, and his eyes to settle on the guy in front of him.  
Zayn.  
He’s wearing a tank top with the words ‘Tokyo for life’ printed on the front, and shorts that have red skulls all over them. Harry will never understand Zayn’s style, nor his calm tone. Whenever Harry appears monotone, Zayn always manages to top it.  
“Truthfully?” Harry asks, repressing a small smile. “I wanted to write a song about friendship and... this is what came out.”  
“Nice pun.” Zayn huffs, lips curving into a long smile.  
“I try.” Harry shrugs, dimples curving into his cheeks.  
Zayn sobers up a little. “You know that he’s going to be all over the place because of it, though, right?”  
Harry knows. Of course Harry knows. From the moment he penned the song he knew, felt it in the chasms of his stomach, turning his insides bitter and cold, making him feel both empty and alien at the same time. He’s known it, thought over it, let the guilt bury itself under weeks of passion and heart and soul---  
\--but it doesn’t stop Zayn’s words stinging through the layers of justification he’s laid around the feeling, doesn’t stop his brow from falling and a fresh, dim new wave of pity rush over his head.  
He’s quick to argue back, through, the years of suffering fresh in his mind.  
Because as much as he hates seeing Louis sad, he hates knowing he’s played a part in something untruthful, something unfair, even more.  
“Yeah? And what about me?” Harry bites back, frustration and desperation laced in his tone. “Don’t you think it’s hard being his friend when all I want is to kiss him? Don’t you think I’m tired of waiting for him to open his eyes?”  
There’s a beat of silence then. Zayn looks like he’s just had an epiphany, lips parting, brown eyes wide.  
“Oh. Ohhhh.” He nods, understanding flashing through his eyes. “So you’ve decided to give him a little push, then…”  
Harry doesn’t look or feel proud at Zayn’s conclusion. But it’s true nonetheless.  
“Is it bad of me to want what I want?” He says, face resigned.  
“Of course not.”  
“I love him. I can’t help it. And I made peace with that. But if he only wants me as a friend, I… don’t think that I can do it anymore.”  
“It’s a make it or break it kind of moment.” Zayn nods, crossing his arms.  
“Kind of.” Harry sinks his shoulders, looking at the floor. “I want us to make it, though.”  
“I bet.” Zayn says smiling softly. “Do you think it’s the way to go with him, though? I mean, he never really was the type to react well under pressure...”  
“Look Z, no matter how I look at it, I can’t find a solution. If things stay the way they are, I’m going to explode sooner rather than later.” Harry shakes his head. “He won’t let me move on and I won’t let him stay in denial about himself. So what am I supposed to do?”  
“You know what? It might just be what he needs.” Zayn says, frown lifting, hesitance fading from his voice.  
“Yeah. I might even think… with everything… he’s different, I mean. I think that he might be ready.”  
“Ready for you, you mean?” Zayn says, grinning hugely, wiggling his eyebrows.  
“Nooooo.” Harry bats him away, blushing furiously. There’s a moment of laughter, and then, Harry seems to sober, eyes far away--  
“Ready to be free.”

 

**

So this clever plan of his? Harry thinks it might be backfiring when Alberto informs him that Louis went home to see Eleanor.

**

And so Louis has, in fact, gone to see Eleanor, partly because he’s been raised to go with what he knows, and, for the most part, Eleanor is all of what he knows.  
Or-- rather, what he’s supposed to know.  
They’re in a sushi bar right now, surrounded by small trays and over-enthusiastic servers. The whole place, if Louis is to be completely honest, is way too bright, and way too happy for the way he’s feeling. Eleanor is her usual chipper self stood beside him, pampered a little too dressed up for the place, all bubblegum lipstick and perfectly glossy hair, but Louis certainly isn’t going to see anything.  
“I missed you, Boo.” She says, as they approach the serving stations.  
NoNoNoNo.  
Oh boy, this is not starting well. He’s cringing at the nickname already.  
“Me too.” He answers, tone clipped.  
Did she always look this superficial? He’s not sure if the fake eyelashes suit the shape of her face anymore, or if they ever did… It makes Louis feel like two spiders are staring at him, extending their legs everytime she blinks…  
He shakes himself out of thinking that way, blinking rapidly. God. What is wrong with him?  
“I love this place! It’s the best in town.” She gushes, holding her tray excitedly.  
Louis wouldn’t know if this place was the best in town if it slapped him in the face. He hates sushi on every level, and is very much prepared to go hungry after this, the McDonald's on route from the hotel looking like a very smart alternative after Eleanor’s left.  
He’s caught up in thought about what he’s going to order there when he realizes Eleanor has spoken again, chipper tone cutting through his high-carb frustrations.  
“How are the boys?” She says.  
At that, Louis lightens up a bit. He loves talking about his boys.  
“Um. Good I guess.” He shrugs, and then, remembers a crucial fact. “Oh! Niall got himself a girlfriend! She’s great. Her name is Sam.”  
Eleanor scrunches up her nose. “Ugh. Is that the Dyke who follows him around all of the time? Good for him, I guess.”  
Wow. Just wow.  
Louis doesn’t comment, but it costs him. His fingers end up denting the poor menu.  
“I hope she’s there for the right reasons, though.” Eleanor continues, spreading her irrelevant opinions over the conversation like running, cold butter. “You know how these things go… Make the wrong move and you find yourself trapped with a gold digger.”  
You mean someone like you?  
Louis bites his tongue. Because it’s not fair to Eleanor and he knows he’d only be lashing out. Sure, what she’s saying is completely false, but he’s not going to start a fight with her.  
He simply doesn’t have it in him.  
He observes her then, blue scanning over her face. Because truth be told, he’s not surprised that El and Sam wouldn’t get along. They simply don’t have anything in common. Eleanor with her long legs, heels and long, slender features. Sam with her stout, short legs and arms, pudgy, round features, and flat shoes. Eleanor with her porcelain, angular curves, brown eyes and plump lips. Sam with her thick hips, round thighs, green eyes and thin lips. Eleanor classy in all of the conventional ways, Sam cool in all of the best ways.  
Heck, even their dress codes are even polar opposites-- Prada bags, fake nails, skintight jeans and dresses paling in comparison to Sam’s backpacks, dungarees, men’s tops and scrubby shorts.  
It’s not like he’s comparing them, or anything.  
It’s just how it is.  
The click of Eleanor’s flash shakes him from his pondering, only for him to realize that she’s taking a picture of the sushi bar.  
Instagram. Great.  
How fucking superficial can she get?  
And it strikes him, then, that this is exactly the type of thing that he would usually do while on a date with her. He would tweet to the world instead of enjoying her company, hold a screen between them, separate himself from everyone and everything. And even though she was always nice to him, all they ever did was tear other people down and laugh at each other’s bitterness.  
And that’s the thing.  
He doesn’t want to be surrounded by this kind of person anymore. Louis doesn’t want clingy or superficial or mean or shallow or pessimistic anymore.  
Louis wants genuinity. Louis wants childlike, true-heartedness.  
Louis simply doesn’t want Eleanor anymore.  
“El, we need to talk.”

**

Harry is flat-out panicking. He’s pacing in Sam’s room (well, Niall’s room). She’s humouring him for now, her hands folded neatly on her lap, looking patient and slightly amused. Niall is sat in the corner, a newspaper held over his face, his knees tucked up to his chest.  
“What is your dilemma? Maybe I can help.” Sam speaks.  
Niall snorts loudly at that. Sam throws a sock at him.  
“I think I made a mistake.” Harry says, letting out a deep sigh and staring at the carpet.  
“Or maybe, you’re just being dramatic.” Sam offers.  
Another snort from Niall.  
“Says the girl who went extreme makeover to get her man.” Harry snaps.  
“Hey!” Sam and Niall say at the same time, mildly offended.  
“Sorry. Sorry.” Harry raises his hands in apology.  
He’s bitter because he’s frustrated. He knows it.  
“You’re overthinking it.” Sam says, then, a small smile forming on her lips.  
“Like always.” Niall adds, his eyes back on his newspaper.  
Harry sends Sam a quizzical look.  
“I mean, you should go with the flow. Play it by ear, listen to your heart.”  
Harry shakes his head no. When has listening to his heart ever worked with Louis?  
“The way I see it, you have nothing to lose.” Sam adds.  
Harry shakes his head again. “I have everything to lose.”  
“I disagree. I think you have to try with everything you have. And you know, if it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know that you’ve tried everything and you won’t have any regrets.” Sam nods at him.  
Harry looks at her, pondering her words. A small frown is on his face.  
“Listen to her.” Niall advises. “She’s a smart cookie, this one.”  
Sam blushes at that, batting her hand at him.  
“What do you suggest?” Harry speaks up, tilting his head towards them.  
“The songs, man.” Niall smiles, almost knowingly. “You gotta play the songs.”

 

**

 

Sydney.

Louis is back, which worries Harry, not because he doesn’t want to see him, but because he seems so….normal. Not mad, or sad, or anything...just normal.  
And it makes Harry nervous.  
Nervous because he’s singing a song tonight. Nervous because he’s not sure of what’s going to happen.  
Nervous because---- just because. It’s Louis.  
God fucking knows what’s going to happen.  
“Helloooo, Australia! So this a song I wrote awhile back.” Harry announces, taking a seat beside the piano. “I hope you like it. This is ‘Don’t let me go’.”  
The boys gather around the piano, all seeming very knowing, except for Louis, who can’t seem to stop himself from sending questioning looks to Niall.  
While Harry’s setting himself up, Louis leans over, and asks Liam---“What is this?”  
“Oh, yeah, right, you don’t know it.” Liam says.  
At Louis' blank face, Zayn adds-- “In his defence, you’re the one that was too wrapped up in yourself to attend band meetings back then.”  
“Well, I was at the band meeting today.” Louis looks annoyed now. If it’s one thing he hates, it’s surprises.  
“Hey, don’t be like that, I just told him to do one of his.” Niall chirps in. He looks way too cocky for this situation and Louis doesn’t like it.  
“Why?” He scowls.  
“Just wasn’t feeling it tonight.” Niall says, blatantly lying.  
But Louis doesn’t have time to comment on it, because Harry’s already singing-- fingers gliding over keys, eyes fluttered shut. His expression, whilst concentrated while he sings, borders on easy, eyes focused on his hands, a hint of a smile curving onto his lips.  
Louis is mesmerized. But it doesn’t help him shake the odd feeling engulfing his stomach at the sight; nor does it heal the wounds the words seem to cut---- fiercely, and relentlessly so.

I'll keep my eyes wide open  
I'll keep my arms wide open

Don't let me  
Don't let me  
Don't let me go  
'Cause I'm tired of feeling alone

Louis knows in his bones it’s about him. He’s reminded once again about the recording tagged “to delete when the time is right”, and also gets the feeling, somehow, that he’s running out of time.  
For himself.  
With Harry.  
But there’s stronger feelings overcoming him, and they wind their way around his heart like barbed wire, causing his stomach to writhe and convulse, making his head dizzy and his throat bob. A feeling of loss, a feeling of panic, and worst of all:-  
A feeling of entrapment.

 

**

 

The green room. They’re winding down for the night, removing equipment, having pep talks with the crew. Louis approaches Harry after the senior management has left; and the rest of the boys are about to leave. Harry’s staring down at his notebook, fingers brushing over paper, a far-off look in his eyes.  
But when Louis comes closer to him, he closes it, a mixture of curiosity and sadness washing over his face. Louis feels so small compared to him right now: and if there’s anything he hates, it’s feeling small.  
So there’s that.  
“What the fuck was that about?” Louis insists, tone harsh.  
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Harry says.  
God. Are they really going through this again?  
“The song. ‘Don’t let me go’. Who is it about?” Louis adds, impatient.  
And at that, Harry adopts his most patient tone, and it’s borderline patronizing. “Who do you think?”  
“Answer the question.”  
Harry smiles now, genuinely looking like he’s pitying him, a soft, glassy look in his eyes. “See you demand answers, and yet, I don’t really think you’re really want to hear them.”  
Louis sighs, beyond frustrated, and turns to leave. His shoulders are all hunched up, and he has a pissed-off glare in his eyes.  
“Yeah, right, leave.” Harry watches him go, mumbling, almost sourly: “That’s what you do best.”  
But Louis doesn’t hear him.

**

Brisbane.  
Harry has yet to gather his courage to do his song because he can’t help overthinking “the plan”, and, judging by Louis’ reaction at the previous show, it could very well go south. He’s been scrutinized under Louis’ glare all day, icy blue cutting through his stomach and causing his brow to fall.  
And, at the band meeting earlier on, Louis had asked them all: “So, are there any surprises planned for tonight? I’d very much like to know beforehand.”  
“As a matter of fact, there is.” Harry had said, boldly, but feeling so so small.“Unless you want to grace us with one of yours?”  
Louis was left with no response; mouth curling sourly, lips forming a pout.

 

**

Brisbane. On stage.  
Harry is on fire. He feels invigorated by the crowd, finding the courage he lacked in the nods and quiet acknowledgments of his bandmates.  
Well, except for Louis, of course, who’s fallen back to the ‘glaring’ level of denial. But there’s this and there’s that, Harry supposes.  
“Brisbane! Wouhouuu! Are you enjoying the show so far?” Harry screams at the top of his lungs, looking into the endless waves of lights, bobbing up and down like a choppy sea.  
“Harold, are you going to sing something new to us tonight?” Liam asks, as Harry’s guitar is being brought up to the stage.  
“Maybe,” Harry answers, albeit cheekily,“But only if Niall accompanies me.”  
Niall instantly leaps up, wiping his hands on his thighs. “Okay, man, I’m game!”  
They sit beside each other, Niall adjusting his guitar strings, Harry watching the crowd. They look more than excited, waving banners like crazed flagsmen.  
“What depressing song are we performing tonight, Harry?” Zayn asks, taking a seat on the edge of the stage.  
They all laugh at that, except Louis, who glares, ignoring the camera displaying his face on the big screen.  
“Yeah. We couldn’t help but notice there’s been a little bit of a theme here.” Liam teases.  
Louis leaves the stage then, mumbling to Zayn that he has to pee along the way. His face is worse than sour.  
Zayn looks at Harry and and mouths the word “Stall”.  
“Don’t you like my depressing songs?” Harry asks the crowd, who cheers again. “Thanks, I was beginning to feel a little attacked here.”  
“So what is it about this time, Harold?” Niall asks, playing little chords to warm up.  
“Love?” Liam asks, giddy eyed. Harry nods.  
“Hope?” Zayn asks and Harry nods again.  
Louis is back all of a sudden, distant and cold, walking like he doesn’t want to be here. Harry looks at him once before turning back to the crowd, his eyes set aglow by all of the baby stars in front of him.  
“Please, wave your phones around like there’s no tomorrow! This is ‘The Only Exception’.”

When I was younger  
I saw my daddy cry  
And curse at the wind  
He broke his own heart  
And I watched  
As he tried to reassemble it

And my momma swore  
That she would never let herself forget  
And that was the day that I promised  
I'd never sing of love  
If it does not exist, but darlin'

You are, the only exception  
You are, the only exception  
You are, the only exception  
You are, the only exception

And when Harry murmurs the last lyrics, tears welling at the corner of his eyes, he can’t help but take a peek at Louis, who looks bare, his mouth a little open, frozen in place, like so many years have suddenly been stripped off him.

Oh, and I'm on my way to believing....

 

**

Melbourne. Third show of the Australian leg. They’re backstage, about to do soundcheck and Greg fucking James is here. God knows why.  
“Oh my God, you’re so adorable!” Sam says to Greg.  
Harry, Niall, Sam and Greg are huddled in the corner of one of the soundcheck rooms, and Sam’s laughing at something he’s said that Louis finds absolutely not adorable, her eyes scrunched up, her stomach bent double. Louis glares sourly their way.  
“Thank you. I’m so happy to finally meet you.” Greg practically fucking chirps, eyes glistening. “Niall speaks so highly of you!”  
Twat.  
Harry and Niall smile fondly and Sam blushes. She’s softer now that she’s with Niall.  
Louis hates it more than he should.  
“Why are you here again, Greg?” He speaks up, glaring up at him from behind the magazine he’s buried his nose in for the past two hours.  
Greg looks a little taken aback and… is it amusement he sees in his eyes?  
Fucker.  
“Rude, much?” Zayn interjects.  
“He’s here,” Harry says, partly flushed at Louis’ behavior, partly startled at his attitude, “Because he’s on the Radio One world tour, which you’d know if you’d been paying attention--- but also because I invited him.”  
“Right.” Louis leaves then, picking up his magazines in a rushed sense of dramatism, slamming the door behind him.  
It’s not soon after that he hears a flurry of feet sounding behind him, and then, fingertips tugging on his jacket zip. He turns in his footsteps, sighing deeply.  
“Hey, Sourpuss, what’s your beef with Pretty Eyes there?” She quirks, tone humorous.  
“Pretty Eyes?” Louis scoffs, much more harshly than Sam deserved. “Have you seen my fucking eyes? There have been poems written about my eyes. Search the internet. And how come I’m the fucking sourpuss in this scenario?”  
“Oooo-kay.” Sam looks halfway between wounded and confused, eyes widening, gaze redirecting to the floor.  
“I’m sorry.” Louis says, dipping his head. “I’m snappy when I’m hungry.”  
“Let’s get something to eat, then, Sourpuss.” She grins.  
Louis smiles, ruffles her hair, and mumbles:---“Let’s go, then. Pretty Eyes my ass.”  
Sam just laughs.

**

“You sure can treat a girl, Lou.” Sam kicks his feet from under the table.  
“Oh, Fuck off. Mcdonald's is like the finest cuisine to my tonsils.” He kicks her back. “And besides. I only bring people I like here.”  
“Awww.” Sam cooes. “You like meeeee.”  
Louis glances out of the window. It’s slashed with rain; grey splattered across the pavement and causing the road to become slippery and dashed with white. It’s now, glancing out of the window, that he spots a Pap: positioned next to the dustbin across the street, a camera held tightly in front of his face.  
Fuck.  
“There’s a paparazzi out there.” Louis comments, heart thumping with sudden panic.  
“So?” She shrugs. “Is it, like, bad for your rep to be seen at Mcdonalds?”  
“Hah. No. they’re here for you, love. You’ve been seen with Harry and Niall already.”  
“So?”  
“You don’t understand. Tomorrow you’ll be in the tabloids and they’ll imply that you’re sleeping with all the members of One Direction.”  
“Wouhouuu. I can already picture it.” She says, theatrically. “Niall’s girl has been Horan with 1otherD.”  
“Don’t say it too loudly.” Louis deadpans, serious. “It would make a great headline. Dan Wootton would be jealous.”  
She barks a loud laugh at that.  
“You may have to make it official with Niall…”  
“Stop putting addendums in our contract, Lou.” She says, pointing a greasy finger at him. “Or else I might have to ask you about the thing with Harry and Pretty Eyes and you might have to answer…”  
“I swear to God if you call him Pretty Eyes one more time--”  
“My god, you’re so jealous of him, it’s cute.” Sam cackles.  
“I’m not jealous. He’s a tool, that’s all. And his constant drooling all over Harry is really not a pretty sight.”  
“I bet.” She responds, clearly mocking him.  
Louis ignores her. “I mean, Harry deserves so much better than that.”  
“Oh yeah? Like who?” Sam splays her hands in the air. “Who would be nice enough, fit enough, perfect enough for our precious Harry Styles, hmm? Tell me, I want to know.”  
“Huh?”  
And that’s the thing, though. No one will ever be enough for Harry in Louis’ eyes. Harry is the nicest, most supportive, person he’s ever had the chance to meet.  
And nobody will ever compare to him.  
She puts him out of his reverie by slipping a gentle hand on his; Louis almost jumping at the suddenness of it all. Her hand is warm.  
“Look, for what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure the boy is gone for you.” She says, as Louis frowns. “And I’m pretty sure if you only said the words…” She shakes her head.“I mean, he won’t wait for you forever and you’re running out of time. Pretty soon, you’re going to have to get your head out of your ass or let him move on.”  
“But.. I…”  
There’s a long silence.  
“My God you’re so emotionally constipated it’s not even funny.” Sam chuckles.

But Louis is lost in her words. They’re sticking to the walls of his brain-- enclosing, evaporating. They’re making the inside of his skull fizz and his brain to melt into static.  
He sighs. “Are you saying, ‘if you love someone, set them free’?”  
Sam’s expression is soft. “Are you saying you love him?”  
And it hits him then.  
All at once, like a tsunami rocking a boat onto the shore, and lightning setting alight what’s left of the wreckage, and a whole lot of darkness being thrust into blinding, scorching light. The truth is intoxicating, overbearing, and weighing both a heavy shift not only on his mind but on his heart:- causing it to ricochet and thunder around his ribcage, washing a calm, sudden dosage of serenity and excitement over him at once.  
Fuck.  
He’s in love with Harry.  
And he’s not going to deny that things aren’t still messed up in his head; because they are. And he’s not going to pretend that things are okay, because they’re not. But he realizes, oh so suddenly, all at once, that it’s started to settle.  
He’s started to see Harry as more than a lover, or a best friend. He sees a man, broad and tall and gorgeous, standing in the back of his mind, so grown up and not like he used to be. He remembers the first time he saw him; remembers the tight, precious winding of his curls, the fact that his lips were way too big for his face, and the fact that that gummy smile tugged on his heartstrings in a way nobody else ever could.  
Harry was small then; just about shorter than Louis, just about happier than Louis, just about everything.  
He’s in love with the same boy now; just in much bigger shoes.

 

**

 

Melbourne. Centre stage.  
Louis has a tidal wave for a heart and a fire for a throat. He’s still aglow in the knowledge that he loves Harry, but something about the way Harry swaggers up to the main stage makes him nervous. He’s not sure if this is a good kind of nervous or a bad kind, but right now, both types are wielding shattering blows to his stomach one and the same.  
“Melllbouuurne!” Harry calls out, microphone pressed to lips. He looks figuratively majestic; hair splayed over his shoulders, t-shirt tight around his shoulders. “I wrote this one a while ago, when we were in Bangkok, for a dear friend who’s here to watch the show!”  
Oh. Of course.  
Greg.  
Louis has just enough time to roll his eyes before realizing, wholeheartedly, that the night Greg and Harry went out was in Bangkok. The night Louis told Harry he wasn’t gay was in Bangkok. The night Louis said all of those horrible things and being very, very, unlike himself… Was in Bangkok.  
Oh God. His throat tightens, his stomach curling up into a small, knotted little ball. He’s scared of what Harry’s going to sing.  
“This is ‘The first cut is the deepest’.” Harry announces.  
And then, Louis honestly feels like crying.

 

I would have given you all of my heart  
But there's someone who's torn it apart  
And he's taken just all that I have  
But if you want I'll try to love again  
Baby, I'll try to love again, but I know...

The first cut is the deepest  
Baby I know  
The first cut is the deepest  
But when it comes to being lucky, he's cursed  
When it comes to loving me, he's worst...

OhgodOhgodOhgod.  
It’s even worse than what he had imagined. He’s singing it to Greg, and is describing Louis, and what Louis did to him…and it’s just…  
It’s too much.  
Louis broke him, played with him, prevented him from moving on at every hurdle; and then, wouldn’t let him be with anyone else. Louis was so wrapped up in himself, his own misguided identity and sense of loss, that he hadn’t realized later that he’d put Harry, the boy he loved, his very very best friend, in a box, and threw away the key.  
Harry, who means so much to him. Harry, who has always been there. Harry, who has shown such incredible, unwavering loyalty, and honesty, and love and support and naivety and just--- everything.  
Fuck.  
What has he done?  
Louis stares down at his hands. He’s been away for so long. He doesn’t know how to do this; needs to think. Needs to sort out all these feelings that have been locked up for so long-- and are now crashing down on him, in unbearable, choking waves.

 

**

He leaves the venue and goes straight to a tattoo parlour. He gets back to work the next day with a brand new rope tattooed on his wrist, and a new, fresh feeling in his heart. He may know nothing right now, might not be able to differentiate wrong from right from okay.  
But if he knows something, it’s that he loves Harry, and the feeling will not go away. And if he wants something, it’s to make Harry feel whole again.  
A rope tying Harry’s boat to his anchor may just form the metaphor he wants to be.

**

 

“The songs. Harry’s songs. I need to hear them. I need to hear them all.” Louis finds himself bursting before their Adelaide show, heart thumping in his chest, desperation rocking from all four walls of the green room and making his throat constrict.  
“Why?” Niall gives him a suspicious look, halfway through munching on a slice of toast.  
Sam grabs his arm. “Babe, give him the songs.”  
Niall sighs deeply, retreats to one of the prep rooms, and comes back with a heavy, thickly-placed folder. Louis has just enough time to shove it under the fabric of his denim jacket before Harry enters the room, looking so so gorgeous and so so precious.  
Fuck.  
His mere presence makes Louis’ chest want to explode.  
Harry’s eyes rake over him. Louis has his hand on his chest, pressing the folder beneath the denim, and when Harry’s eyes fall there, he honestly feels like running away, screaming, and kissing him all at once.  
But he doesn’t do any of these things. Instead, he stays put, lets the pale green of Harry’s eyes wash from confused to soft to understanding. And then, Harry draws his eyes back up, lands them on Louis’ face.  
“Hmm, nice ink.” Harry says, evidently uncomfortable.  
Sam winks.  
“Thanks.” Louis says.  
He doesn’t know how to act around Harry anymore, doesn’t know how to form a coherent sentence, doesn’t know how to smile or to laugh or to joke or to breathe.  
So he leaves, making shrewd excuses and barely-there eye contact, scampering down the hallway feeling happy and hopeless all at once.  
God.  
Was it always this difficult?

**

 

Adelaide, Australia.  
The night is fuzzy, the kind of warm that sticks to your arms and neck and makes the floor hot. The sunset is extremely pink, washing the sky purple, the heat making the air ripple above and the area above the arena become a string of wavering lilac ribbons. The crowd is quieter than usual tonight; or maybe that’s just because Louis can’t hear anything aside from the heartbeat pounding in his chest, loud and close, rushing wildly in his ears.  
“Adelaideee!” Harry announces, and it’s like a whole new rush of excitement has taken over the space. “Got a new song for you tonight!”  
The crowd instantly begins to scream, and Harry puts a finger on his lips, his other hand waving the tone down. They eventually quieten, screams bated, and Harry talks again-- and this time, seems to be looking right towards Louis.  
“This is ‘Open Your Eyes’,” Harry states.  
Fuck.  
Louis’ mind instantly becomes a blur, and all he can do is watch as Harry takes centre stage, sitting on the edge, and pressing a microphone to his lips. His voice echoes through the deathly silent arena, ricocheting along each and every crowd member, and barging it’s way into Louis’ heart.  
He holds his breath as Harry looks over to him, almost tentatively, his eyelids low and his tone calm.

Get up, get out, get away from these liars  
'Cos they don't get your soul or your fire  
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine  
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time

Every minute from this minute now  
We can do what we like anywhere  
I want so much to open your eyes  
'Cos I need you to look into mine

Tell me that you'll open your eyes  
Tell me that you'll open your eyes  
Tell me that you'll open your eyes  
Tell me that you'll open your eyes….

It’s only afterwards, backstage, that Louis finds the courage to speak. He feels like there’s an entire animal holed up in his throat when he approaches Harry’s door, looking very small, and, for the first time in ages, slightly purposeful. When Harry opens the door, Louis puts his hands behind his back, almost formally, and stares down at his feet.  
And Harry…  
Harry looks almost...royal. Authoritative. His shoulders, for starters, have never looked bigger...and the shirt he’s wearing….Jesus.  
It’s thin and it’s tight, sticking to his skin like cellotape thanks to the heat, causing the haphazard, unruly strands of curls on either sides of his head to appear even more so. There’s a bead of sweat working it’s way down his collarbone and down the inside of his shirt, and his skin...oh God, his skin.  
Is he tanned? When the fuck did that happen?  
“Would you like to go for a ride with me?” Louis asks, hesitant.  
Harry’s lips part. He doesn’t respond, brow crinkling a little as he looks Louis up and down. And Louis doesn’t blame him for being unsure; if he were in Harry’s place, he would’ve given up on him so long ago.  
But this is Harry.  
And he loves him.  
Right?  
“Please.” Louis tries again, heartbeat wild beneath his shirt. “I… I really need to talk to you.”  
“Okay.”

**

They’ve been driving in Louis’ sport’s rental for a while now and Louis has yet to say something. Anything, in fact. In front of them, the sunset is bold and vivid; and, in it’s late stages, casting a furious light show of reds and oranges and golds across the sky. It paints the road a deep red, coating the trees and the stoplights bloody, and soft, and making the lights drifting across Harry’s face even more beautiful.  
Louis is lost in thought, lost in the horizon. He’s so lost, in fact, that he doesn’t seem to realize Taylor Swift is on the radio until her lyrics are drilling themselves into his ears.

Flashing lights and we  
Took a wrong turn and we  
Fell down a rabbit hole

It’s cosy in the car. Harry keeps casting tentative looks at Louis from the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap, not knowing where they’re going or what this is about.  
Eventually, it becomes too much. Harry has to speak, otherwise, he feels like he’s going to burst.  
“Good show tonight.” He says, making small talk as his fingers fumble nervous knots around the rings on his fingers.  
Louis seems far off when he says, instead of responding:- “Do you think we’ve changed?”  
“What?”  
“The fame.” Louis reiterates, suddenly very serious. “Do you think it’s changed us?”  
Harry is all red lips and small, concentrated frown. “I think it’s impossible not to change.”

We found wonderland  
You and I got lost in it

Harry keeps bouncing his leg up and down, wishing he had more rings on his fingers to fumble with; more things to say.  
A way to decipher what’s going on in Louis Tomlinson’s fucking head.  
They stop at a crossing, Louis leaning back in his seat, allowing his hair and his shoulders to touch the leather. For a moment, there’s silence, and they sit there, quietly, watching the people rush across the intersection.  
And then, Louis turns to look at Harry. “I'm proud of you.”  
Harry breathily laughs, aghast by Louis’ randomness. “What?”  
“I mean...I, like, I admire you.” Louis blurts. “Like, you're just....I don't know.”  
Louis’ head is a jumble of words and feelings and emotions and topics right now. He’s struggling to scramble through his mind foliage.  
“Thank you.” Harry says. His eyes are soft and warm, his lips turned up in a gentle smile.  
“Don’t thank me.” Louis shakes his head. “You deserve it. You deserve everything.”  
Honking sounds from behind them, and Louis turns back to the front, throat tightening as he pushes down the ignition and drives past the green stoplight. Harry sits quietly for the rest of the journey, mind awash in what Louis just said, stomach swirling with the unexpected compliment.  
And, for the first time in ages, they feel at peace with each other.  
Louis brings the car to a stop by the edge of the beach, just about where the railings end and the sand begins. The sun is nearly gone completely now; sinking lazily below the waves, the darkness casting the sea empty and choppy.  
Harry is just about to question this strange parking place when Louis grabs his arm, looking right in his eyes, and says-- “Did you mean it?”  
“What?”  
“The song. Did you mean it?”  
“Which one?” Harry laughs gently.  
“The one….” Louis pauses. “The one to delete when the time is right.”  
Harry’s eyes shoot wide.  
FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck---  
“Wh-- How--”  
“I think it’s time to delete it.” Louis says, ever-so-sternly, before grabbing Harry’s hand and leading him from the car.  
Harry is speechless all of the way down to the sand; mind overworking to try and think of something to say, but his brain coming out empty.  
Because what is a guy meant to say to that?  
He’s still thinking of something to say when Louis kicks a pile of sand right over his legs, right over his precious designer jeans, and Harry squeals, leaping back, shocked.  
“Think fast, Styles!” Louis laughs, and it’s not long before Harry’s chasing him back, a large pile of sand scooped in his hands, mischief on his mind.  
But then, Harry stops in his tracks as he gets a glimpse of the sunset, of the sun’s last dying breath reflected by the water, made fluorescent and ever beautiful by the clouds veiling it. The sand in his hands falls to his feet, and as Louis, who, in his mad frenzy to escape, had ran a lot further down the beach, stops to join him, things become a lot more perfect.  
There’s a moment of serenity. They watch as the sun retreats below ebbing, calm waves, and then, as the darkness overcomes it’s beautiful struggle. And then, they look at each other, the moon’s bare tendrils of light sculpting their faces, and a whole lot of things to say and do and feel.  
“What now?” Harry says. His hands are gritty from the sand; the patterns on his rings swirled brown and grey and orange with each speck from below.  
“Sit. It’s nice here.” Louis drops to his bum, patting the area beside him, and so Harry does.  
And yeah, it’s pretty nice. The beach is empty at this time of night; the only sounds from passing cars, a whoosh breaking the silence clinging peacefully to the trees and the bushes and the moonlight. Birds linger up above, dipping to and fro in their small circles of flight, and on the horizon, an airplane can only just be seen-- it’s tiny, flickering amber lights carving comets in the darkness.  
“I’m sorry.” Louis eventually speaks. “I’ve put you through a lot of shit.”  
Harry is lying with his hands behind his back, holding him up, and when he looks at Louis he’s suddenly a lot quieter. “Okay.”  
Louis’ eyelids flicker downwards, and he shakes his head. “No. It’s not okay, Haz. It never has been.”  
“Louis--”  
“No, no-- let me speak.” Louis insists.  
Harry looks soulful and serene all at once, sorrow washing over his eyes, a hopeful, peaceful look in his eyes.  
Louis lets out a short sigh. “I’ve put you through so much. And it's not fair, you know? And I’m not worth it. I’m really not worth any of this. The songs-” He swallows the lump in his throat- “The songs, Haz, they're beautiful. I can't--- I can't believe that they're--- fuck.”  
Harry looks sad all of a sudden. “Lou…”  
“Just please let me fucking finish, Harry. I have this in my head now, and I never know when it'll be back, and I just--” Louis shakes his head. “This is the one time that things are okay in my head with you, you know? I know I have to say this.”  
Harry’s quiet as Louis leans in, hesitantly brushing his fingertips along Harry’s jaw, seeing if it’s okay, before fully taking his cheek in his palm, his eyes deep, the look on his face meaningful.  
At peace.  
“I don’t know where we’ll be in a year, in three, or in ten.” Louis says, as Harry’s eyes begin to flicker shut--- “The only thing that I know that won’t change is that it’s you and me forever, Haz. You know? It’s...it’s you and me forever.”  
For a second, Louis thinks that Harry’s going to pull away; his lips wrinkling, his eyes falling shut. But then, he realizes, as a warm, delicate tear streaks down Harry’s cheek, that this is very much not the case. Louis holds him as tight as he can all of a sudden, arm clasped around his back, and Harry crashes into him, pressing his head against Louis’ shoulder, his hands flat against his chest, and for a moment, things are quiet.  
All Louis can feel is Harry’s heartbeat, warm and steady, thumping against his own.  
And then, Harry begins to sob. These are deep, desperate, thankful sobs:- sobs that wrench Harry’s chest and cause his lips to crinkle and convulse. These are ugly, worn, hard-earned tears-- but Louis is here, he’s here to pick them up, and he’s here to make sure the damage he’s done won’t go unfixed.  
He’s here to make sure things are alright. And he vocalises this while Harry’s in his arms, feeling the clench and the release of Harry’s fingertips, tight against his t-shirt:-- “It’s going to be okay.”  
Between sobs, Louis can just make out a ---"I missed you so much, Lou.”  
And it makes him feel like his chest is about to shatter. He pulls back, taking Harry’s face in his hands, and, for the first time, has never thought a red face and puffy eyes to be so beautiful. Harry’s dipping his head down, trying to hide his snot and his upset nature in the sleeve of his shirt, but Louis is having none of it.  
He wants to see him, see his boy.  
And he wants to let Harry know it’s okay.  
“I’ve been here all along, love.” Louis says, and he feels like he’s going to start fucking crying at the sight of him. “I swear.”  
And at that Harry cries again, hands rushing to hide his face, Louis’ fingertips skirting from skin to waist. And then, for the longest time, they just hold each other, until Harry’s sobs become sniffles, and Louis’ watery eyes become smiles.  
Harry pulls away, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, but Louis is still looking at him. There’s no way to describe the look in Harry’s eyes right now; green prickled with sheepishness, standing out crazily good beyond the red of his nose and eyelids. Louis just wants to kiss him everywhere.  
“Don’t look at me.” Harry mumbles. “I’m gross.”  
Louis laughs. “No.”  
And then he leans in, and then he kisses him.  
It’s like the world has dropped all of a sudden, and all that exists is this; the gentle, firm pressing of lips against lips, the way Louis is holding Harry’s jaw to his, like he’s not afraid to stay there, and the way Harry is leaning into him.  
Like he can’t bear to let go.  
After a few minutes, soft kisses become tentative touching, fingertips to chest, then fabric grabbing, wandering hands moving south, and then, full-on beach groping, Louis lying squarely on Harry’s chest.  
Louis pulls back all of a sudden, leaping upwards. "Come on, let’s go back.”  
Harry protests at that. “But Louuu--”  
“Sex on the beach is much more appealing as a cocktail, you know.” Louis teases, a promise written in his smile. “So overrated.”  
Harry sticks his bottom lip out before taking a fistful of sand and hurling it at him. Louis has just enough time to act offended and kick some back before Harry is up, chasing him once more, a tangle of limbs ending in a pile on the sand.  
Louis is on top of him when he says it, giggling wildly at Harry’s hair spread out in the sand, trying to reach out and tickle him all at once. Harry’s batting him away when he says it, trying to take ahold of Louis’ tiny, fragile hands in his own huge paws, smiling brightly, trying not to chuckle at the way Louis’ hair parts when he leans over that way.  
Louis is so so close when he says it; blue eyes as bright as the moon and the stars above.  
“God, I love you.”

 

**

 

Stumbling legs soon lead them back to the car, moving through the dark like giggly, bright ninjas. It takes Harry a while to find the door latch, mainly because he's kissing Louis all the way, and also because his hand and his heart are made out of jelly. It's hard to think when every part of your body has become sweet, sweet static.  
Louis cackles, a warm, full-body cackle, as Harry finally opens the door and shuffles to the front seat. His legs are everywhere, incredibly thin and spindly and Bambi-like, and Louis wants to bite them. As Louis joins him in the passenger seat, tugging it shut behind him, Harry can't fight the urge to kiss him any longer-- can't go any longer without being this close to him.  
It's been so fucking long.  
Lips meet, tentative and slow, firm and gentle all at once. Harry's hand is splayed out over Louis' neck, index tucked into the base of his hair, and Louis is crashing into him, eyes fluttered shut, hands roaming all over the front of Harry's chest. It's so passionate and sweet all at once, and they're both desperate to get off on this, to get off on each other-- and fuck, the car is so warm.  
The heat rumbles from each and every surface as Harry's back touches the other door, hair gliding above his head, lips pursing as Louis presses his torso on top of him, fists holding Harry taught and close, chin gliding over his collarbones as his lips press to Harry's neck, causing Harry to buckle his head up, eyes tight shut, enjoying the feeling of Louis on him.  
This is not a dream, this is not a dream, this is not a dream---  
Harry keeps telling himself this as he sits up a little, cupping Louis' face with his hands, pressing firmer, deeper kisses along his jaw and cheeks and lips. Louis is loving the attention, gripping Harry's forearms with tight, assured hands, feeling the warmth of Harry's skin beneath his shirt and wanting nothing more than to be closer.  
“Hmh. Not here.” Harry finds himself mumbling, as his head bumps against the driver door window.  
“Too small.”  
Louis grins, hands still on Harry's chest as he pulls back. “Okay.”  
Harry sits up, kissing him still, Louis resting steady, strong hands on either sides of his shoulders. Once they've moved so that Louis is sat securely in the passenger seat, Harry pulls back. His lips are red, his face flustered, and his hair-- oh God, his hair.  
Louis just wants to eat him up.  
“Seatbelt.” Harry blurts, taking Louis out of his daydream.  
“Oh.” Louis blinks. “Yeah. Course.”

**

They're still sandy from the beach when they finally reach the door to Harry's room, and Louis notes this as he roams greedy, unstoppable hands all over Harry's torso, feeling each grain close and sharp against the warmth of his skin. They're so close, so close, and he can feel Harry's heartbeat, quick and steady, right beneath his hand.  
Harry pulls his head away from the kiss, eyes barely open, back pressed up against the door. “Would you like to come in?”  
Louis cackles, as if it's not remotely obvious. He pulls away from Harry just long enough to allow him to unlock the door, and then, once they're inside, he's right on top of him again, hands on chest, hands on waist, hands on bum. Once they break again, Harry's pressed against the door to the shower, peeling his shirt from his chest, and the next time they speak, Louis is watching him.  
Harry's just stood in the bathroom, getting undressed-- nothing special at all, really.  
But Louis' mouth is open, and his eyes are roaming-- and there's just something about Harry that appears so incredibly endearing in this moment. Since when were his shoulders that big? And his back that defined? And his eyes so terribly, terribly green?  
He turns, noticing Louis' sudden silence and awe-stricken gaze, and before he can say anything, Louis is nearing him.  
“If you're not naked in the shower in, like, twenty five seconds, I swear I'm starting without you.” He says.  
Harry laughs. “Is that supposed to make me hurry up?”  
“Yes,” Louis says, and then, he flings a stripy sock his way.

**

Sand is rushing down the drain, swirling around in circles, whooshing past Louis' feet. Harry watches this movement with child-like excitement before throwing his arms around Louis, sticking their wet torsos together, and pressing kisses all the way down his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Louis is loving the attention, tucking his head sideways across Harry's chest, and wrapping his arms up and around the massive expanse that are Harry's arms.  
“Love you.” Harry mumbles, somewhere inbetween.  
Water droplets tear down Louis' face as he looks up at Harry, eyes squinting shut as the water rushes down past his forehead, and then, he kisses him.  
Never before has he felt so close.  
It's minutes later that they eventually egress from the shower and out, into the bedroom, Louis leading Harry by the hand, wet, warm droplets ricocheting down onto the carpet and turning cold thanks to the air conditioner. Harry doesn't protest once as Louis presses him down onto the duvet, wet hair sticking to the fabric, and then, he doesn't even speak as Louis makes it his personal mission to lick up each and every one of the droplets on Harry's body.  
Harry watches with bated breath as Louis slowly dips his lips down, making each touch more intense than the last, the flutter of his eyelashes regular as he grazes his lips up and from the various curves of Harry's torso. Harry's breathing becomes jagged as Louis' movements, naturally, end up veering towards his crotch:-- slow, knowing kisses becoming faster, and more regular as he reaches his goal.  
He's wearing a smirk as he palms Harry, quite casually, actually-- and he's still smirking when Harry shuffles across the duvet to kiss him.  
Harry can gradually feel his grin fade as he bites down on Louis' bottom lip, sucking gently, causing a stifled, surprised moan to emanate from his throat and his grip to tighten on Harry's shoulders. Harry shuffles back on the bed, so that Louis is sat down as well, and then, Louis is on top of him, gently grinding his length against Harry's lower stomach, chin flat against his chest as he begins to moan.  
They're still grinding when Louis dips his head down to kiss at Harry's neck and jaw, but it's slower now, more laboured. Harry has his length pressed against Louis' leg as they both rock, gently, almost in sync as quick, deep kisses are laid across skin.  
Louis quickly rolls over, so that he's on his side, removing his lips from Harry's neck only to grab his length, pumping slowly and leaving trails of gentle kisses down his upper chest and collarbones. Harry begins to moan, hand blindly reaching for Louis' own crotch, slender fingers finding their own way into causing Louis to grunt and gasp and shiver.  
After a while, Louis grabs Harry's hand, ceasing his movements, and then, he's leaning down, placing pink, thin lips over the tip of Harry's length and circling his tongue around. Harry is instantly plunged into a new frame of pleasure, lips shooting apart, eyes fluttering tighter shut. Louis watches the closing and opening of Harry's mouth through parted eyelashes as he bobs his lips up and down, very knowing, very peaceful.  
Harry's fingers ghost over Louis' ass, ever so gently, as Louis continues his movements, and then, Louis pulls back, leaning up, so that their lips meet again. It's a lot deeper and passionate than before, tongues meeting amongst all of the chaos, and then, as Harry continues to ghost his fingertips to and from over Louis' crotch, he parts from the kiss.  
“I want you inside me,” Louis blurts.  
Harry is surprised to say the least, eyes fluttering open, gaze intent. They've never done this before.  
“Are you sure?” He asks. His voice is a lot lower than usual. “I mean, you've never--”  
“Yes, I'm sure.” Louis bats away his hesitance. “And I want to. I want to give this to you.”  
Harry's mouth parts further. “You don't have to do that.”  
“I want to, though.” Louis dips his head down. “Unless, I mean, you don't--”  
“No! No. I do. Believe me, I've been dreaming about this for years.” Harry blurts, honestly, and Louis smiles cheekily in response.  
“I just....I mean, your arse...” Harry continues, eyes lost as Louis begins to ghost his own fingertips back over Harry's length, teasing. “It's all I can think about sometimes.”  
“Please, tell me more.” Louis beams, sitting up, brushing his hands over Harry's stomach.  
Harry is mesmerized in this moment; Louis looking so beautiful, so precious, so....His.  
Oh God. It's been so long.  
“I could write songs about it. In fact, I have.” Harry continues, and his hands rise, slowly brushing slender touches along Louis' waist.  
Louis giggles, repressing a grin as he leans down, kissing Harry once more, hands pressed to chest.  
“You're such an idiot.”  
Harry laughs, and then, they're kissing again, sweet and slow, until Harry eventually finds his way on top of Louis. The kisses suddenly become slower, deeper, wiser, and as they pull back, eyes locking, Harry seems unsure.  
“It's fine.” Louis whispers, fingertips brushing over Harry's cheek.  
“You sure?” Harry mumbles.  
Louis nods, vigorously, eyes fluttering shut. Harry leaves a slow, tender kiss on his lips before leaving for a few seconds, Louis watching the space he used to occupy with bated breath and excitement in his stomach. When Harry's back, Louis greets him with a kiss to the neck, nervousness evidently radiating from him, cutting through his other urges.  
“Sure?” Harry asks, once more, once they're close again.  
Louis nods, and this time, he smiles. It seems to be all the confirmation Harry needs as he pads lube around Louis' hole and preps him with a curious level of gentleness, and then, slowly enters him. Louis is laying on his side, hair splayed out over the duvet, arm reaching out the other way. Harry grabs his arse to steady himself, and lets out a deep grunt that vibrates all of the way down to Louis’ fucking stomach.  
“Oh.” Louis says, once their hips are pressed together.  
“Okay?” Harry asks, instantly worried, frown pressing down on his expression.  
“It's fine.” Louis laughs, breathily, hand moving to hold Harry's forearm. “I'm just surprised to see you, that's all.”  
Harry laughs, but he's still worried. Louis kisses his arm a few times to assure him he's okay, and then, Harry slowly begins to rock his hips down.  
“Oh. Oh fuck. Oh." Louis pants, voice choked, eyes fluttering shut, fingertips gripping tightly to Harry’s arm as he slowly rocks into him.  
Harry lets out a deep grunt and lets his head fall down as he slips into the pleasure, mind becoming foggy, world closing in except from Louis.  
Louislouislouislouis.  
Oh God.  
OhGodOhGodOhGod.  
“Ah!” Louis whimpers, hands clutching tighter onto Harry’s forearm. “Shit, that's good. Shit. Shit.”  
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Harry mumbles, hair tumbling over his face, and Louis has just enough time to slap Harry's arm before Harry begins to rock faster, and Louis doesn't even have the strength to speak.  
His toes curl, eyelashes fluttering with rhythmic thrust Harry pounds into him, and Harry doesn't think he's ever seen anyone look so beautiful as he clutches onto Louis tighter and tighter. As Louis’ whimpers grow in consistency, Harry lifts one of Louis' legs up, so he can grip onto something steady as he fucks him, and lets his fringe fall in front of his eyes.  
“Oh--” Louis pants, breathless, as Harry continues to rock him, fast but steady, and he's rendered shocked at how strong Harry actually is. Considering his clumsiness half of the time, you'd never think it.  
But now, glancing up at him through trembling eyelids, Louis sees nothing but strength. He's completely at Harry's mercy for a while, able only to pant and whimper and moan his way through the next few minutes, but then, as Harry slows down, head tipping back with pleasure, Louis finds himself being lifted up, into the air.  
He wraps his legs around Harry's waist, both eager and confused, and begins to kiss him as Harry walks with Louis in his arms, walking around the bed, so that he can put Louis down, and onto the pillows. Just before he lets go of him, Louis begins to press sloppy, fast kisses up Harry's neck and onto his mouth, and they stand there for a few seconds, lost in each other.  
And then, Harry seems to remember what he was doing previously, and deposits Louis down, onto the softer side of the bed. He clambers atop the sheets with him, fingertips roaming over Louis' jaw, and then, they're kissing once more, Louis holding onto Harry's neck for dear life.  
“Want you back,” Louis pants, once they break kissing, “Inside. Want you back inside.”  
“Okay.” Harry smiles, and then, he places a steady hand on Louis' shoulder as he slips back inside of him, Louis' eyes tightening shut.  
“Why did we move up here?” Louis asks, breathlessly, before Harry begins to rock his hips once more.  
“Wanted to be closer.” Harry mumbles. “You looked so far down from over there.”  
Louis laughs, but it's cut short, as Harry finds a good angle and he lets out a long, stifled moan. Harry draws back a little, slowing his pace, so that Louis' moans become longer, and more pained, and then, once Louis has had enough, he begins to speed up.  
“Wanna put my legs up.” Louis says. His eyes are closed.  
“Okay.” Harry pants, stepping back as Louis lifts his legs up, so that his ankles rest on Harry's shoulders.  
“I feel silly,” Louis says.  
“You don't look silly.” Harry replies, and then, he dips his head down, and presses a slow, gentle kiss upon Louis' lips. “I love you.”  
“I know.” Louis mumbles, and then, he looks very afraid. “I...I love you too.”  
Harry smiles then, ever-so-gently, and kisses Louis, very firmly, on his forehead. It's then that Louis tips his chin up, meeting Harry's lips, and it's then that the kiss falls into the passionate category again-- tongues slipping past lips, hands becoming entangled in hair. Harry finds himself unable to resist from putting himself in Louis again, and Louis finds himself physically incapable from stopping himself kiss Harry.  
“Hmmh. Yeah.” Louis mumbles, against Harry's lips.  
Harry chuckles, but then, as Louis threads his fingers up into his hair, his smile drops, and, as Louis tugs in time with each thrust Harry makes, he finds himself shaking.  
“Love you.” Harry mumbles, as he feels his release burning in the back of his spine, and then, as Louis utters back the same words, he can't help himself from tumbling into him; in the same way that the sun succumbs to the dark, and the stars succumb to all of the clouds and the dawn.

**

In the morning, without even turning around, Harry knows he’s alone. He can feel it in his heart and bones.  
Call it habit.  
Call it dread.  
Call it pessimism.  
Harry just knows.  
And, as he turns around, watching the light scatter over the sheets and a dreadful feeling setting in his stomach, he soon finds he is right.


	16. 14

Chapter 14

“I don't want to be in love but you're makin' me”  
\- Jonny Lang, Breakin’ Me  


Louis wakes up slick with sweat, his heart pounding from the inside of his chest, his ribs pulsing, and a thick layer of perspiration making it’s way onto his skin. It slips and drips from his body like acid and as he sits up, disorientated, it beds itself into the pillow.  
His breathing is jagged as his fingers cover his eyes, washing away the last dregs of his nightmare away from his head, waiting for his chest to regulate and his hands to stop fucking shaking. Beside him, Harry is still peacefully sleeping-- curls spread over the bedsheets, lips barely parted. The night is cold, but beneath it’s watery moonlight Harry looks more beautiful than ever-- hair whisked with ivory, cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of the duvet.  
Louis can’t stop but smile softly at the sight, warm feelings washing over his stomach, acting almost like a fire blanket to the previous panic instilled in his chest.  
When he’s calm, he reluctantly gets out of bed, watching his shadow coat the moonlit carpet with a certain sense of curiosity, ignoring the slight sting in his bum, and collecting his sandy clothes from the nightstand.  
Now, where is it?  
Louis begins turning over random piles of paper and clothing strewn over the hotel room table, quiet in his searchings, but also quite impatient. The folder is what he’s looking for; the collection of songs Harry wrote and Niall gave to him the day before.  
Where the hell did I leave it?  
The car. Yes. Louis does a little victory dance, shaking his hips about in the moonlight, before exiting the room and tiptoeing-- ninja style-- out of the hallway and down to the lobby.  
Once he’s out of the hotel, breath billowing from his lips like tiny little smoke puffs, he considers leaving a text for Harry, telling him where he’s gone, but then reasons that he won’t be long and decides against it.  
This is a ten minute job, right?  
The car is warm, and as he bundles himself inside, lighting a cigarette just for the sake of it, he feels like things are going well. The folder is on the backseat, just like he’d expected it to be.  
And, well, it’s pretty cute.  
He smiles at every note, every doodle, every comment made in the sidelines of the stack of paper and sheet music, knowing they’re all made by Harry, knowing that right here, he’s holding a piece of the guy he loves between his fingertips.  
And it’s nice.  
The majority of the pile, though, he’s never heard or seen before.

Am I being a fool?  
Wrapped up in lies and foolish truths  
What do I see in you?  
Maybe I'm addicted to all the things you do

-Grand Piano

The longer he reads, the more his smile falters. He considers leaving it, but he can’t. Curiosity has taken ahold of his chest and he needs to know.

Oh you're in my veins  
And I cannot get you out  
Oh you're all I taste  
At night inside of my mouth

-In My Veins

Fuck. Louis lights another cigarette.

When you fall in love  
You lose control  
You can't hang on and you can't let go  
When you find the one  
You hold on tight  
You weather every storm  
Till the sun shines  
Even when it hurts, there's no regret  
Every breath you give, is one you get  
When you fall in love

-When You Fall In Love

I love you more than songs can say  
But I can't keep running after yesterday  
So, why you wanna break my heart again  
Why am I gonna let you try

-All We Ever Do Is Say Goodbye

Did you know when you go  
It's the perfect ending  
To the bad day I'd gotten used to spending  
When you go all I know is  
You're my favourite mistake

-Favourite Mistake

I don't ever ask you where you've been  
And I don't feel the need to  
Know who you're with  
I can't even think straight but I can tell  
You were just with her  
And I'll still be a fool, I'm a fool for you  
Just a little bit of your heart  
Just a little bit of your heart  
Just a little bit of your heart is all I want

-Just A little Bit Of Your Heart

I hate you, don't leave me  
I feel like I can't breathe  
Just hold me, don't touch me  
And I want you to love me  
But I need you to trust me  
Stay with me, set me free

-I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me

Thank God Louis didn’t ask for the recordings. Hearing Harry pouring his heart out like this in audio might have killed him.  
It’s hard enough as it is.  
His hands are trembling on the wheel, the folder long fallen to his lap, his breath constricted and his chest doing something that he doesn’t like. Thoughts are rushing in his head all at once, but they’re quick to fade into a sense of self loathing that Louis just can’t shake. It blurs out everything else, makes his eyesight watery and his knuckles clenched.  
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck  
Louis is like a bad habit, like a drug. Like the fucking cigarette he’s smoking. It’s all written in the folder on his lap.  
He’s a monster.  
He’s a fucking monster.  
How can Harry say he loves him?  
It’s clear that Harry put him on a pedestal all these years ago and Louis can’t, for the life of him, understand why.  
The sun is up now, warm light and heat cutting through the cold of the night. The streets become golden as the clouds begin to ascend, carrying with them pastel colours and flare, and small flocks of birds begin to pinprick the baby blue.  
Harry must be up by now.  
Louis ignores the pang of guilt that sits in his stomach, puts the key in the ignition, and drives away.

**

Harry wakes up alone.  
Is he hurt? Sure.  
Is he surprised? Sadly, no. It’s hardly the first time that he's felt like this- dejected, lonely, and downright worthless- but he's not confused, either.  
He knows Louis. When changes occur, no matter how small, Louis runs. It’s his fucking go to move. So, of course something as big as what happened last night has him running for the hills.  
He should be heartbroken, really. But as he lies his head back on Louis’ cold pillow, smelling like sand, and sunshine and Louis, he’s reminded of his words the night before.  
“Wait!”  
“What? Am I hurting you?”  
“No! I… I just forgot to tell you something important. I broke up with Eleanor.”  
And that’s progress, right?  
Still, he wakes up alone again and he’s not gonna let it slide. Not this time. Louis said he loved him, for crying out loud. That must mean something.  
Louis may want to run away, but Harry is done letting him.  
He dresses up quickly and goes looking for him, Bambi legs skirting across both familiar and unfamiliar ground.  
But he’s nowhere to be found. And they have a show tonight.

**

Alberto had to pack Louis’ things from the hotel, and now, they’re all worried.  
“Fuck, Haz, what the hell happened?” Liam asks.  
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Harry says.  
“Leave him be.” Niall interjects, looking up from his phone.  
“He’ll show up for the show.” Sam adds.  
“How do you know?” Zayn asks, tone bordering on suspicion.  
“I don’t.” Sam stares at her lap. “I’m just hoping, I guess.”  
“He’ll be there.” Harry states, sounding more sure than he feels.  
By midday, he caves into calling Louis, heart thumping in his chest, stomach knotted with either anger or anxiety or a mixture of both.  
It goes straight to voicemail. Figures.  
But Harry leaves a message regardless; feeling like he’s going to burst if he doesn’t get at least some of his feelings out.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Lou. Are we back to this? You going off the rails and disappearing God knows where?”  
He hangs up, furious.

**

Louis shows up minutes before the show in the prep room in Perth, already changing his shirt, his hair flurried, his composure humourous. It doesn’t fit the tone of the room, but you can see his efforts to lighten the mood once he steps past the doors.  
“Sorry lads! Traffic was a bitch.”  
His attempt to diffuse the tension falls on deaf ears.  
“Fuck you, Lou.” Zayn says, a personified deflated carrier bag if Harry’s ever seen one.  
“Unbelievable.” Liam adds.  
“Show time in two.” Niall says, irritated, leaving the room with Zayn and Liam.  
Harry is fuming in their absence.  
No, fuck that; he’s on fire.  
Louis avoids his gaze as Harry stares him down, jaw tight, heel bouncing. He looks like he’s sat on the border of uncomfortable, but Harry doesn’t care.  
Because how fucking dare he.  
He waits for the tech guy to finish plugging Louis’ soundsystem with bated, livid breath. Louis tries to leave the room after the tech guy does, but Harry grabs him by the arm and crowds him against the door.  
“So, let me get this straight. You say you love me, we fuck, and then you leave in the middle of the night again?” He says, beyond pissed. “I don’t think so.”  
Then, out of nowhere, he kisses Louis.  
Hard.  
For a few seconds, the world becomes nothing. Louis’ mind becomes blank as Harry holds him against the door, hands on his shoulders, chest pressed to his own--- and then, as Harry steps back and leaves, just like that--- a tsunami of thoughts rush into his brain all at once.  
Because, well, fuck.  
Louis’ all jelly legs and disorientated walking patterns when he finally gathers his wits to leave the prep room and go on stage, and, thankfully, none of the boys seem to notice how far away his thoughts are.  
Or want to pay any attention to him whatsoever.  
But yeah, the concert is good regardless, and the crowd, as always, is bright and lively. It lets Louis, for a while, get lost in the overwhelming amount of support surrounding him for what feels like miles up and across and beyond. The concert passes by fleetingly; breaks and toilet stops whooshing by like they were never there at all, and before they know it, it’s time for the part where they showcase their new material.  
At this point, it’s clear that they’ve all loosened up a bit. Zayn and Liam are swaggering onto the main stage, guitar in hand, sticking to the schedule of performing something they wrote together a while back. Niall is just hanging around, beaming as always, and Harry...  
Harry is Harry, moping in the corner, immersing with the crowd. He hasn’t talked to Louis once since they got on stage and Louis doesn’t like it one bit.  
But what does he expect him to say?  
“Sorry lads, if it’s alright with you, um, I’d like to sing something.” Louis says, just as Zayn and Liam are about to play, shaking his nerves off as casual suave.  
The crowd goes wild.  
“You wrote something?” Liam says, dumbly, putting his guitar down.  
“He wrote something! Hallelujah!” Zayn jokes, hands in the air.  
“Yes.” Louis says, ever-so defensively. “Don’t act so surprised.”  
“Well, I want to hear it! I’ve had my ears bleeding all tour hearing you lot’s songs. It’s time for little Tommo to shine, don’t you think?” Niall says, addressing the crowd.  
There’s loud cheering in repose.  
Because of course.  
“Thank you, Niall!” Louis looks almost justified as he sits in front of the piano, cracking his fingers and clearing his throat to clear the tension.  
The boys begin to clutter around the piano. Louis loosens up a little when Niall sits beside him; but he still looks tense. His bottom lip is taken between trembling teeth as he lets out a shaky breath, lowering his shoulders, splaying his fingers out over the keys.  
Harry feels dreadful seeing him like this, and knows, from the bottom of his heart, that things can’t be good.  
If things were good, Louis would have been there this morning. Fetching him breakfast and tea. Having a lazy morning in bed filled with kisses and declarations of love, giggling under warm sheets, intertwining hands and mumbling words against jawlines.  
But they’re not. And right now, Harry doubts if they’ll ever be.

You're the first face that I see  
And the last thing I think about  
You're the reason that I'm alive  
You're what I can't live without  
You're what I can't live without

Harry feels tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. He bites his lip.

You never give up  
When I'm falling apart  
Your arms are always open wide  
And you're quick to forgive  
When I make a mistake  
You love me in the blink of an eye

I don't deserve your love  
But you give it to me anyway  
Can't get enough  
You're everything I need  
And when I walk away  
You take off running and come right after me  
It's what you do  
And I don't deserve you

Louis keeps glancing up at him, pale blue cutting through the dark of the arena and up to Harry’s face. And the way he’s singing it is amazing--- his voice cracking in all of the right places, soft yet wiltered, burnt yet so so beautiful.  
Harry has never been more in awe.

You're the light inside my eyes  
You give me a reason to keep trying  
You give me more than I could dream  
And you bring me to my knees  
You bring me to my knees

Your heart is gold and how am I the one  
That you've chosen to love  
I still can't believe that you're right next to me  
After all that I've done

Louis is looking at his hands now, incapable of keeping eye contact with Harry any longer.

I don't deserve your love  
But you give it to me anyway  
Can't get enough  
You're everything I need  
And when I walk away  
You take off running and come right after me  
It's what you do  
And I don't deserve you

Harry feels like there’s nothing and everything inside of him. His mind is working so hard but so little; struggling to condense all that has happened, vocal cords fighting and failing to express the thoughts inside his head. The weight of it all is pressing down on him, and there’s a brushing of goosebumps against his arms and neck. He feels naked.  
He feels exposed.  
So this is what it felt like to be Louis all that time; a song sprung on you, a heart struggling to pound out of your chest. It’s a mixture of disoriented, dizziness, confused, weak-- but above all that, loved.  
So, so loved.  
Good to know.  
After the show, Harry finds his hands shaking. He has a lot of questions, and very few answers, just like always with Louis.  
Louis, who, also as always, is nowhere to be found.  
So when Harry enters his dressing room, he is startled, to say the least, to find Louis there, sat on the sofa, a small, lost little frown on his face. He has elbows on his knees, and has obviously been waiting for Harry to arrive.  
“I wish you'd just told me.” He says.  
“Wh--?” Harry frowns, closing the door behind him. He’s beyond confused at this point.  
“I read your lyrics. All of them.” Louis clarifies.  
“Oh.” Harry looks at the carpet below Louis’ feet. “Um, songs are my way of telling you, Lou.”  
“I figured. I don’t know what to say about that, though.” Louis places his hands together on either side of his nose. “It’s everything. It’s too much. But it doesn’t feel real somehow, you know?”  
“No.” Harry instantly scowls, brow lowering. “I don’t understand.”  
“When I read them.” Louis sticks his hands out, as if explaining a complicated formula to a kid-- “It hit me. I’m no good for you. You deserve so much more in a partner, so much more than me. It’s bloody ridiculous.”  
“What? No!” Harry shakes his head, pinching the brow of his nose. “Jesus Christ, Lou, that’s not what’s happening here.”  
“Listen to me, Haz.” Louis tips his head back. “You’ve said it yourself. I’m like a drug to you, a fucking bad habit you can’t shake. And I think that’s because I’m all you’ve ever known and you can’t think clearly because of it.”  
“What?” Harry scowls. “Who’s fault is that, huh? The way you acted with Emmet? Greg? That was rich!”  
“I know. I’m really sorry about that.”  
“No.” Harry shakes his head again. “You’re not.”  
“You’re right.” Louis says, defiant, tone bordering on humorous. “I’m not.”  
There’s a moment of silence. Harry shuts his eyes, rubs his hands on his cheeks, sighs, and turns to look at him. His expression is that of frustration.  
“I don't know what to do here.” He says, voice quiet. “It feels like I can never fucking win with you, Lou.”  
“And I feel like the exact opposite.” Louis says, rubbing at his eyes, his mouth tipped in an ironic, transparent smile. “I feel like I’ve won the bloody lottery and they’re going to say that there’s been a mistake any minute now.”  
“What? No! What are you talking about?” Harry points at the carpet. “I’m here! I’m right fucking here! In front of you, telling you that I love you, asking you to take a chance on us and--”  
“It doesn’t make sense, Haz! How could you love me?” The smile is gone. “After everything I put you through? You must be out of your fucking mind!”  
“This is my choice to make! You don’t get to decide how I feel!”  
“What do I see in you? Maybe I'm addicted to all the things you do.” Louis cites Harry’s lyric, irony lacing his voice, bordering on patronizing.  
“Don’t use my fucking songs against me, Lou, it’s not fair.” Harry is shouting now, furious, anger ricocheting from and probably through the thin walls that accompany the venue’s dressing rooms.  
But right now, Harry doesn’t care. It was a very fucking low blow and Louis knows it.  
“I know it doesn’t feel like I’m being fair.” Louis looks away. “But trust me, the way you feel isn’t real. You put me on a pedestal and I really don’t deserve it. I’m scared that you’ve waited for so long that you only love this idea of me you’ve built up in your head, and it’s not real. Can’t you see that it’s not real, Harry? I can’t live up to what you’re expecting this to be.”  
“Fucking hell! Stop finding excuses! God! There’s always something with you --” Harry tugs at his hair, obscuring his face from Louis, closing his eyes tight. “You’re reading the songs all wrong, for fuck’s sake!”  
Louis is getting angry now. “What am I reading wrong in ‘I’m addicted to the madness, I hate you, don’t leave me’?”  
“You forgot about this part! ‘Don’t listen to a single word I’ve said, just hear me out before you run away. I hate you, please love me’.” Harry recites, hair still over his face.  
“I am not a good person Harry! Don’t you get it? I’m a dick! I’m a selfish prick! This is who I am! But you, you’re loving and caring and sweet and beautiful from the inside out.” Louis is livid now, hands over his face. “Me? I taint everything I touch. And I won’t do that to you, not if I can help it. Letting you go...Setting you free may be the only selfless thing that--” Louis’ voice cracks and he has to stop abruptly-- his trembling chin a signal on it’s own to let Harry knows he’s on the verge of tears.  
Harry takes one step closer, feeling empty and hopeless and sad all at once, a hole in his stomach and an engulfing sense of frustration curdling up in his throat.  
He doesn’t know what to do.  
“Is it so unbelievable that someone could genuinely love you?” He says. His voice is quiet.  
“I don’t expect you to understand, Haz.” Louis pushes his fringe out of his own eyes, tries to still the trembling of his bottom lip. “I know I’m a mess.”  
“I just---I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, Lou.” Harry shakes his head, looking so so sad now, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.  
Louis shakes his head, defeated.  
“I need to be alone right now, to sort things out. I hope you can understand. I’m really sorry about everything.” He slowly stands. “Have a nice break, Haz. ”  
Before leaving, Louis turns around and says:--- “For what it’s worth, I love you.”  
He leaves the venue dragging his feet and looking like a kicked puppy.

**

The lads and Sam are in the Hotel Suite, sprawled over sofas and armchairs, heavy thoughts in their minds and disappointment lining their stomachs.  
Louis, of course, isn't there.  
“I don’t understand.” Niall says, simply, putting his hands in his lap and sighing.  
“Me neither.” Zayn looks annoyed.  
“That makes three of us.” Liam sighs.  
“I think I do.” Sam offers.  
“Of course you do.” Niall fawns, fonding over her as always. It's cute.  
“So Louis loves you, he said as much.” Sam begins, getting up for emphasis.  
“Yes.” Harry is sprawled in an armchair, the back of his knees on the arm of the chair, looking at the ceiling.  
“But he doesn't want to be with you.”  
“I think he does, but that’s beside the point. Carry on.” Harry adds, moving his arms, but continuing to stare at the ceiling.  
“Okay, so he thinks you’re too good for him.”  
“Yes.”  
“Um, then what? He thinks you deluded yourself into loving him? Because he’s the only thing you knew?”  
“Yeah.” Harry says, rolling his head back, tone bordering on sarcasm. “How fucked up is that?”  
“Well…” Niall frowns.  
“I mean…” Liam sighs.  
Zayn’s brows are furrowed.  
“Okay, the four of you.” Harry gets up and points a finger. “I’m going to say something, and I’m going to say it once. I've loved this boy since the moment I met him. He is it for me. I tried to move on, but he wouldn’t let me. Which is just as well because there’s no one else for me. I would have given up a long time ago if I wasn’t sure, so don’t patronize me. Alright? Is that clear?”  
They nod.  
“Awww, you’re such a sap.” Niall mocks, attempting to diffuse the tension.  
“Shut up.” Zayn says.  
Harry sits back down and closes his eyes. “If I have to spend my life proving this to him, then so be it.”  
“You’re forgetting about something though, love.” Sam says.  
“What?”  
She blinks at him a little, and sighs. Her voice is soft. “Louis will never be happy if he doesn’t learn to love himself a little more first.”  
“Well, I’m going to love him for the both of us until he learns to love himself.”  
Because if Harry is sure of something, it’s that Louis is a good person. No matter what he thinks.  
Yes, he’s loud, yes, he’s overly witty. And sure, sometimes, he’s a condescending prick, and sure, sometimes, his pride overclouds the way he thinks to the point where nothing makes sense.  
But he’s also kind, and gentle, and fierce, and loyal. He’s so selfless sometimes that it physically hurts Harry to look at him when he’s smiling that way, and he’s so, so, defensive, and so smart, and just--- so on his side.  
It’s very easy to love someone when they’re on your side.  
Louis is a good person. Harry knows this, despite how much they might argue and squabble and disagree, like he knows so many other things-- it’s just a reflex reasoning that sticks to the inside of his heart and refuses to let go.  
Louis just has to be reminded of it a little.

**

“Louis! Open up!”  
Liam is rhythmically banging on the door; barely cutting through the loud music blaring from inside, causing his ears to pound and his head to hurt. He keeps knocking anyway, feeling each thump of the music throw his knuckles off-centre, feeling the sounds beat through the thin carpet and beneath his feet.

And you know you're gonna lie to you  
In your own way

Liam huffs, crossing his arms tight, halting his knocking to make a disapproving face at the door. “Lou, it’s not funny. You phone goes straight to voicemail, no one heard from you in days. There’s a weird smell coming from inside.”  
“I swear to God Louis if you don’t open, I will smash the door. For all we know you’re dead!”  
Still no sign of Louis.

And you don't need the light on  
To guide you through the southern lands  
Almost brave  
Almost in love

“Harry is worried sick.” Liam offers.  
Magic word.  
Liam hears footsteps coming towards the door.  
And when he sees Louis, it’s even worse than he thought. His face is drawn tight from a lack of sleep, sallow and dry, and his usually bright eyes lie dull, bearing dark grey bags beneath them. He smells bad, and his clothes are rumpled, hanging from him like a spindly coat rack. His facial hair is nearly bordering on full beard, his hair incredibly dishevelled (even more than usual, Liam notes), and the flat---  
\--oh God, the flat.  
It’s an absolute catastrophe, for starters. Louis stares up at him, brows low, a smoke cloud billows up and out of the room doorway, colouring the hallway ceiling grey, and probably likely to set the fire alarms off. On top of that, there’s music sheets scattered all over the floor, some scrumpled, evidently trodden on, and others buried beneath piles of crumbs or empty food containers.  
And Liam doesn’t know what to think. There are so many things to point out, and so little time.  
Louis blinks at him as he gathers his wits in the doorway. “I’m alive. Go away.”  
His voice is scratchy, like he hasn’t used it in days.  
It doesn’t suit him.  
Liam squints, puts his nose in the crook of his elbow, and turns his head to the side. “God, when was the last time you showered?”  
“Bye Liam.”  
And Louis closes the door on his face.

**

The day is bright; tendrils of amethyst purple invading the late summer skies and bees dumbly murmuring against the cafe windows in an attempt to reach the plants inside. The clouds flare and dim with each pass that the sun makes behind them, casting a variation of shadows along the cafe floor, making Harry’s reflection distort in the shiny floor panels, making his frown increase as he watches.  
His silent pondering is broken when the waitress clinks two hot cups of tea down on the table, causing his gaze to jitter back up, reminding him that Liam is, quite literally, sat opposite him right now, sending him a restricted, timid smile, looking like a parent about to give a horrifying verdict on Parent’s Evening.  
“He’s a mess, Haz.” Liam says, eventually, brows caving into a frank expression. “I’m really worried.”  
“Fuck.” Harry puts his face in his hands.  
“I’m only telling you because you’d kill me if I didn’t.”  
“I’m going to see him.” Harry decides.  
“No, you’re not.”  
“Li--” Harry warns.  
“Listen to me. There’s nothing you can do.”  
Harry glares.  
“Don’t give me that look. I’ve been watching from the sidelines for years, man.” Liam points a finger Harry’s way. “You can’t be Louis’ fixer, or whatever, you know I’m right.”  
“Why not?” Harry says, mouth twisted in an ironic grimace. “I know him, don’t I? I know how his twisted mind works!”  
“Well, I know him too and the first thing he’ll throw in your face is that he’s not your fucking project.” Liam sits back. “That you don’t really love him. That you only want to fix him.”  
When did Liam become this fucking insightful?  
“Look, I’m not trying to be hurtful, okay?” Liam sighs. “Your job is proving to him that your feelings for him are genuine. The self loathing part-- you just can’t relate.”  
“But--”  
“No! No buts. Harry, you’ve--- You’ve always been out in your family! You’ve had it easy compared to a lot of closeted people. Surely you can see that! Your family has always been accepting and loving. Your friends have always been supportive of you, and that’s wonderful! I wish it was the case for everyone.”  
“Okay, but--”  
“Noooo, you’re not hearing me, Harry.” Liam puts his head on the table. “Do you know how it feels to grow up in a family where you’ve been raised to think that they would see you differently if they knew the truth about you? Because I do.”  
Harry feels like he’s being put on the spot. He feels uneasy. “Liam, Jesus Christ. I get that he has a lot of shit to deal with but it’s never easy. For anyone. Even me.”  
Liam ignores him. “Do you know how damaging it is to have friends that bully people like us? It destroys you. You feel like you’re worth nothing. You want to change, but you can’t. You grow up to think that what you are isn’t enough. And it’s damaging. It really is.”  
Harry’s quiet for a few moments, and then, says:--“You think you can help?”  
Liam tries to smile. “Um, you know, truthfully, I think he needs therapy.”  
“He would never agree to that.”  
“I know, so we’re stuck with me.” Liam’s eyes are sad, but he’s smiling.  
“Gosh, I hate this. It’s so frustrating! I feel so useless.” Harry puts the palms of his hands on his eyes and sighs.  
“Don’t. Thanks to you, he’s no longer in denial. It’s a big step. He got rid of his toxic friends, which was a really big step too. The self loathing part, he has to deal with on his own.” Liam puts his chin on top of his hands. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t help him.”

**

A few days later, when Liam goes to see Louis again, a different song is playing. It sounds unfamiliar, new-- and very much being played acoustic. Liam bangs at the door.

Come up to meet you  
Tell you I'm sorry  
You don't know how lovely you are  
I had to find you  
Tell you I need you  
Tell you I set you apart

“Louis, open up! I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Tell me your secrets  
And ask me your questions  
Oh let's go back to the start  
Running in circles; coming up tails  
Heads on a science apart

“I will call your parents, I’m dead serious.” Liam warns.

Nobody said it was easy  
It's such a shame for us to part  
Nobody said it was easy  
No one ever said it would be this hard  
Oh take me back to the start

“I came out to my mum last year. She didn’t talk to me for six months.”  
The music stops abruptly at that.  
Louis opens the door and lets Liam in without a word.  
Liam walks in and stares at the surroundings, bewildered at the mess he only had caught a glimpse of the last time he was here. Old pizza boxes, empty wrappers, and odd sheets of paper are strewn all across the carpet and doorway, like some messily constructed attempt of a street map. There's tissue hanging from the air conditioner, and blankets crumpled up in the wrong rooms, covering tables, chairs, and sofas like a grungy re -enactment of a mountain range--- and empty cola cans and bottles lie together in ruins, their lids off, like a tiny colony of skyscrapers.  
It smells so bad-- a collected aroma of sweat, man, and a lack of air freshener-- and there's pillows nearly fucking everywhere.  
Liam lets out a little whimper at the sight but doesn’t comment; he knows it'll cost him.  
Louis lays on the ground facing the ceiling and, after a while, pats the place beside him so Liam knows it's okay to join them. For a while, they lay there-- watching the tissue flap lifelessly out of the air freshener, watching the dust notes clamber up to the ceiling and back.  
After ten minutes in companionable silence, Louis says:-  
“I’m sorry about your mum.”  
Liam turns to face him. “It’s better now. Kind of.”  
“How?” Louis says, genuinely curious.  
“It’s a process I guess, you know.”  
“I really wouldn’t.” Louis deadpans.  
Liam laughs.  
“We talk. I’m trying to educate her, so to speak. My sisters help. The more she knows, the more she understands.”  
“Doesn’t she accuse you of throwing your sexuality in her face?” Louis says, sombrely.  
“Well when I go home now with Zayn, we try not to make out in the living room, so…”  
Louis chuckles.  
“Plus, she doesn’t get to see me often, so she misses me. And she likes Zayn, and we’re serious now she knows that. Does anyone know, on your end?” Liam asks tentatively, before adding--“Have you come out to anyone?”  
Louis shrugs. “Harry knows. You all know.”  
“You never came out to me.” Liam straightens up.  
Louis rolls his eyes and turns his head the other way. “God, Li. Why does it matter?”  
“You need to say the words out loud, Louis. It helps.”  
Louis glares. “What’s the point?”  
“The point is that you have nothing to be ashamed of.”  
Louis looks hesitant, pondering what Liam said with bated breath and pride. He feels like there’s something ricocheting around in his chest, some kind of feeling, and he doesn’t like it.  
Liam shuffles a little closer. “Come on. You can do it.”  
“M'gay.” Louis mumbles, his lower lip trembling, his eyes filling with unwanted tears.  
Liam smiles, looking proud.  
There’s beat of silence.  
“A little prouder now.”  
“Fuck off.” Louis says still smiling, wiping the tears from his face with a long jumper sleeve.  
“I’m serious. You’ll feel better.”  
Louis is bashful, quick to change the subject. “Did you like the song? The one I was playing when you came to my door?”  
“It’s beautiful, Louis.”  
“Do you want to hear it properly?”  
“Yes.”  
Louis walks over to the piano and begins to play the song. Liam sits beside him on the leather bench, arms slightly crossed, eyebrows raised as Louis strokes his fingers over the keys.

Tell me you love me  
Come back and haunt me  
Oh and I rush to the start  
Running in circles, chasing our tails  
Coming back as we are

Louis stops abruptly, like he's just realised something, like every feeling he’s ever has all come rushing to the surface.  
Like he's had a sudden epiphany.  
He suddenly turns to Liam, eyes wide, and says--  
“I am gay.”  
And then he sobs. Loudly, for a long time, tears dripping from his cheeks down, onto the piano keys. He sobs until his hand shake and all he can see are swirls of colours behind his eyelids. And Liam rocks him gently and soothingly, padding a large hand across his back, smiling just a little.  
“Fuck.” Louis sniffs, and wipes his tears.  
“Congratulations. I’m proud of you.”  
“Yeah, well, don’t think about taking me to any gay bar to pick a guy up just yet.”  
“You don’t need one. You’re all sorted in that department.”  
Louis smiles privately.  
“Yeah.”

**

Harry can’t stay still and do nothing, that's for sure. He's paced his house for too long. And there's no news from Liam. He’s dodging his calls, and Harry very much suspects he’s avoiding him.  
He’s being very vague in his texts (“He’s alright, don’t worry” or “I’ll keep you posted”).  
And Harry really doesn’t like to feel out of the loop like this.  
It can’t be good, can it?  
So he calls the only person he trusts besides himself (and Liam, kind of) to help in this particular situation. Louis’ one friend that isn’t shared between them.  
Ed.  
“Harrrrreh! What’s up bro?”  
“Hi. Uhmmm, are you in the UK by any chance?”  
“Yeah, I’m home for another month! Wanna get smashed? Where’s the Boobear? Is he with you?”  
“Yeah, about that… Can you meet me? It’s kind of important?”

**

It’s later on in the day that Ed finds himself in Harry’s living room, the cup of tea long since politely rejected, bums on sofa seats and the television blaring in the background. It’s when Ed breaks the silence that Harry realizes that he hasn’t spoken yet-- his confusion masking every other coherent thought.  
“You’re kind of scaring me, Harry.” Ed says.  
“I know.” Harry puts his face in his hands, tries to gather his wits. “I’m sorry. It’s because it’s kind of a long story and I don’t really know where to begin. Louis...”  
“Yes?” Ed raises his eyebrows.  
“He’s not well. He hasn’t been for a long time. It got better, then worse.” Harry sighs. “I don’t know… Did you know that he fell out with Calvin and Oli?”  
“Of course I do.”  
“Do you know the reason why?”  
Ed squints, really not sure what Harry is getting at.  
“I think I know, yeah, but good riddance if you ask me…”  
“They fought because of me.”  
“Absolutely not.” Ed shakes his head.  
“See, you don’t know what happened.”  
“Louis got rid of two of his friends because they were being twats towards his best friend, I think I know all there is to know.”  
“He told you?”  
“He did, yeah. You know, I’ve known Louis for fifteen years. I’ve known Cal and Oli for ten. You may be his best friend; but I’m his oldest one.” It’s factual, not reproachful.  
Harry nods.  
“So yeah, of course he told me.” Ed clasps his hands. “Cutting ties with them? It was very hard for him, you know? Even if it was the right thing to do. And he was certainly not going to confide in you about it.”  
“He could have.”  
“It was about you. I’m not sure he could have been totally truthful about it without hurting your feelings.”  
Harry is still not sure that Ed knows the whole story.  
“They trash talked me. Because I’m gay.” Harry says tentatively, gauging Ed’s reaction.  
“Oh. Well. Like I said. Good riddance.”  
“Did you know?”  
“That you’re gay or that Louis’ friends are homophobic twats?”  
“Both, I guess.”  
“Yes. And Yes.”  
“Oh.”  
“Did you know that Louis and I grew apart for a bit when we were teenagers because of them?”  
Harry sits back. “No, I didn’t.”  
“I didn’t like them. They met in high school, and were in the same class, and everything.... and they got him in trouble a lot. His parents thought it was just classic adolescence, but I knew. They were a bad influence. He wasn’t the same when he was with them. They were close minded bullies. They still are apparently. Being put in the band and getting away from them, getting to know you, it was good for him.”  
Harry smiles sheepishly and nods. “I’d like to think so.”  
“Yeah.”  
There’s a beat of silence.  
“I’m in love with with him.”  
Ed doesn't comment, waiting for him to continue.  
“And he’s in love with me.”  
Ed exhales loudly. “I guess I always knew that he was attracted to boys. Not that he would ever talk about that with me…”  
“Or anyone, really.”  
“He could have. I wish he would have trusted me enough growing up to tell me. God, he must have felt so alone when we were kids.” Ed sighs. “I’m genuinely happy for you two, though. Are you good? Are you happy? Wait. Why are you telling me all this? Where is he?”  
“Yeah, about that…” Harry puts his hands in his face. “We’re not together. Somehow he got into his head that he’s not good enough for me and that I don’t really love him. I haven’t seen him in days, and, like….I think he’s depressed. Would you talk to him? He won’t see me.”  
“Of course I will.”

**

“Hey!”  
Harry answers the phone to find Sam on the other side, awash in a chipper tone.  
“Hey.” He answers, tone low, voice slow. He’s really tired.  
“You ok, Chuck?”  
“Kinda. I have a lot on my mind, you know.”  
“Did you hear from him? --Seb, put that down, jeez!--Sorry, sorry I'm listening -- Scarlett! I swear to god!--”  
“You sound like you have your hands full.” Harry huffs.  
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m babysitting my four siblings, mind you. My parents are out of town for the weekend. And since I’m back… --Hux, pumpkin, don’t climb that, you’re gonna fall, baby!”  
“Do you need some help?” Harry asks, tentatively. It’ll do him good to see Sam.  
“God, yes.” Sam sounds more than relieved. “Niall abandoned me after Summer almost cut his hair.”  
“I’m on my way.”

**

Sam looks like Martha Stewart has gone to war when Harry arrives, hair puffy and wild around her head, eyes wide and manic, and a tired hand resting on her hip. And the house is a mess:-- clothes strewn over the carpet and stairway, toys all over the floor and window sills. But it looks lived in, homey and cosy none the less.  
Harry loves it.  
“Guys! Harry is here, come say hello!” Sam says, once she’s ushered Harry in through the hallway.  
It’s seemingly empty for a second. And then, almost as if by magic, four kids come lumbering out behind washing baskets and blankets, eyes curious, hair crazy.  
Sam puts her hands on her hips. “This is Scarlett, Sebastian, Summer and Huxley. We’re like the dorky version of the Kardashians.”  
Huxley, the four year old, is hiding behind Sam’s legs, very quiet and shy, looking at Harry as if he’s about to grow a second head. He has a vigorously combed blonde fringe, and is holding what looks like a dragon teddy to his chest.  
Sebastian and Scarlett, the six year old twins who couldn’t be more different if they tried, are stood stiffly beside Sam, elbowing each other. Sebastian has a dark fringe that goes nearly over his eyes, and Scarlett has intense, thick curls that frame her face like a cushion.  
Summer, the oldest of them at eleven years old, is standing with her arms behind her back and delicate, spotted freckles. Her hair is pinned back in a high ponytail, and she is wearing a stripy top with a deer on it.  
“Hello.” Harry says. “M’Harry.”  
They collectively mumble a quiet “hello.”  
“Welcome to Casa de Norton!” Sam announces, walking them further into the hallway--- “Don’t mind the mess.”  
Scarlett is stuttering behind Harry, watching him closely.  
“Your hair looks curlier in real life.”  
“Uhm. I wouldn’t know. Your hair is pretty curly though.” Harry laughs.  
“Scarlett has you on her bedsheets!” Sebastian blurts.  
“Do not!” Scarlett answers, extremely embarrassed, pushing him.  
“Do too!” Sebastian answers sticking his tongue out at her.  
“Guys, settle down.” Sam says, patiently, carrying Huxley along to the living room.  
“My favorite is Louis.” Sebastian states, chin pointed up in a defiant stance.  
“You know what, mine too.” Harry huffs, and Sam looks at him with an expression halfway between fond and sad.  
“Because he takes no shit from anyone.” Sebastian adds, nodding.  
“Language!” Sam says.  
“Louis is too loud.” Scarlett complains, sticking out a red bottom lip.  
“That he is.” Sam says.  
“I like your hair better than Niall’s.” Summer adds, joining the conversation.  
“Yeah, well you’re not going to try to cut Harry’s hair either, young lady!” Sam raises her eyebrows.  
“Sam says you can teach us how to bake.” Scarlett says.  
“Yeah.” Harry laughs. “I mean, I can bake. I used to be a baker, you know...”

**

Sam’s kitchen is small, way smaller than any Harry’s ever been in, but it’s humbling. Sure, there’s just enough space to turn around in between the counter and the oven, and sure, Harry has banged his head on the doorway a couple of times, but it’s one of the nicest places he’s been in a while. It might not be 5-star accommodation, but the herbs growing in pots above the windowsill, the green-etched wooden counters, the cups with the swirly straws and the low-tilted fairy lights all make their way into his heart better than a thousand-pound hotel ever could.  
While they’re whisking, preparing the dough for gingerbread men atop the counter, Summer says:-  
“So, technically, if you wanted to, you could sue all of the bad people on the planet.”  
“Not technically.” Harry says.  
“But you're rich, though.” Summer looks puzzled, tilting her head to the side, allowing her ponytail to swing behind her head like a pendulum.  
“Not that rich.” Harry laughs.  
“Sam said you have a bisquillion dollars.” Summer squints at him, clearly not believing.  
“Oh did she, now.” Harry says, playfully, glancing across to Sam for some explanation.  
She simply sticks her tongue out at him.  
“Well, since you’re here, I just thought I’d make you a list of people I’d like to sue.” Summer pulls out a list from her backpocket and hands it to Harry.  
“Uh. Thanks.” Harry takes it, unfolding it slowly with floury hands.  
“So when you get the time, consider filling out a few. Uncle Niall is too nice, you see.”

The list is not long:  
1\. The mean boy who sits opposite me in maths and picks his nose  
2\. Mitt Romney  
3\. Space for not being closer  
4\. Nasa for not letting me on their team  
5\. Disney  
6\. Mrs Worsnop, the drama teacher who always tells me off for no plausible reason at all

\--And Harry laughs and says “I can't sue Nasa.”  
“Why not?” Summer whines.  
“They’ll jettison him off to space and leave him to die.” Sebastian says dramatically, gripping the edge of the bowl like he’s telling a ghost story.  
And Summer scowls and says-- “Mind your own business. We’re having a grown up conversation here.”  
Huxley crumples his face from the other side of the counter. “Bu-- I don’t want Harry to die.”  
“Hey, it's fine.” Harry shakes his head. “I'm not dying anytime soon.”  
And at that, Sebastian sticks his hand straight into the dough, lifting it out only to say---“I’M A COOKIE MONSTER AND I’M GOING TO EAAAAT YOUUUUUU!”  
Huxley runs and hides between Harry’s legs, laughing maniacally.

**

“Why did you draw on your arm, Harry?” Huxley says, when Harry rolls his sleeves up. It’s a lot hotter than he thought it’d be in the afternoon, and the air is beginning to ripple outside, making the trees waver and the gravel glisten.  
“You’re going to be grounded by your mum.” Huxley adds, still looking at Harry’s arm, scowling disapprovingly.  
They’re all sitting around the dining room table, doing Arts and Crafts. The kids are drawing right now-- pens sprawled across the table, colours being mashed together in ways Harry didn’t even think possible. And it’s nice, you know.  
Things are nice.  
“They’re tattoos.” Harry explains.  
Huxley is dumbfounded.  
“Uhm, It’s like permanent marker, once you draw them, you can’t remove them.”  
“I want a tartus too!” Huxley stares at his blank piece of paper.  
“Alright, rockstar, why don’t you start by drawing Harry’s tattoos on the page, then we’ll see, alright?” Sam says, sending Harry a warm smile.  
Harry laughs. “I have a butterfly on my stomach, do you want to see it?”  
“Siiick.” Sebastian says, once Harry’s rolled his shirt up.  
Scarlett looks somewhere between horrified and awe-stricken.  
Hux is already drawing a blurp that vaguely resembles a huge squiggly wingy thing on a stick figure. Everytime he finishes drawing one, he keeps tugging on Harry’s sleeve and handing it to him. In fact, Hux has followed Harry everywhere today.  
“I want to see all the tartuses.” Scarlett declares, clearly disappointed in her drawing.  
Sam just shrugs at Harry.  
“Okay. This one, I got when I had my first kiss with the person I love.”  
“I don't get it.” Summer deadpans. “The heart, I get. The 17 black, I don’t.”  
“It’s a place.” Harry huffs.  
“Okay.”  
“I like the mermaid.” Scarlett says.  
“I like this one. ‘Won’t stop till we surrender’.” Summer says, pointing.  
“What does it mean?” Scarlett asks, confused.  
“Ummm...”  
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Haz.” Sam is hesitant.  
Harry leans forward. “Do you have a favourite toy?”  
“I do! My teddy bear.” Scarlett says.  
“If you lost your bear, how would you feel? You'd want it back, wouldn't you? And you wouldn't stop wishing to get it back, even if you were able to get a new one just like it. You’d look for it everywhere, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t admit defeat. You wouldn’t stop ‘till you surrendered.”  
Harry is satisfied with his explanation, but his eyes are sad..  
Sam gives him a pained look.  
“I love my bear! I need it to sleep! And Sebastian keeps taking it to annoy me.” Scarlett is oblivious to the heaviness of Harry’s words.  
“I’d rip it’s arms off if I wasn’t afraid of being grounded.” Sebastian says, gloomily.  
“My bear doesn’t sleep well without me, Seb.” Scarlett pouts. “It gets lonely.”  
“Yeah, it does.” Harry says.  
“Is it true that you sang ‘She’s not afraid’ for my sister’s birthday?” Sebastian cuts randomly, giving Harry a pointed look. “Because she’s afraid of spiders.”  
“See, I have my own Louis at home.” Sam laughs.  
“I hope you get you bear back, Harry.” Scarlett says, very solemn all of a sudden.  
“Me too.”

**

The rest of the afternoon is quiet. After they finish drawing, the kids go to play in the garden, leaving Harry and Sam alone for a bit. Huxley is asleep in Harry’s lap, a patchwork quilt strewn snugly over him, and the afternoon is lazy and bright. Sam’s back garden is filled from corner to corner with trees and plant life, stretching across the sky like running paint, providing blissful shade from the heat. Below them, the rest of the kids are running around-- darting through and under bushes, throwing leaves at each other in attempts to escape.  
And the atmosphere is lovely. Harry’s breathing slowly as he sits back, watching swarms of birds soar through the canopy of the trees, batting their wings across the clear blue, and letting his shoes settle amongst the pebbles under the bench.  
Sam puts her elbows back. “So, you okay?”  
Harry doesn’t respond. He begins to play a little with Huxley’s curls, tucking his fingertips under and along each strand stretched across his face, mezmerised. He sees a little of himself in Huxley. It’s weird.  
“They’re good kids.”  
“Yeah. they are.” Sam laughs. “Although you see why I like to travel now.”  
“Nah. I love big families. Louis has six siblings, you know? Their house---well--- it’s a madhouse.” Harry laughs. “But it’s nice.”  
He gets lost in thought for a minute, watches clouds mope across the sky, their movements laboured, their pace slow. And then, he looks back down again.  
“I want a big family one day.”  
Sam smiles. “I hope you’ll get it Harry. I really do.”  
He looks up at her. “Do you need me to stay the night and help you?”  
“Nah, Ni is coming back with pizza. Well I hope so. Otherwise I’m breaking up with him. But you’re free to stay with us. I don’t want you to be alone.”  
Harry smiles.  
“Thanks, but if you don’t need me, I think that I’ll go back home and write a little.”

**

That night, Harry sits by the window and watches the rain fall. It’s bedarkened and weeping, black against the moonlight, thunking balloons of sopping moisture onto the street outside. Steaming shrouds of cloud coil and writhe above, shrieking, cracking down on the land like an immense whip, causing cold to echo through the window pane and tiptoe across Harry’s neck and shoulder. It leaves goosebumps in it’s wake, and lightning streaks along his house, painting it all in white for seconds leaving again. It clatters along the roof, along the windowsill, on the window pane, and for a while, he just listens to the sound. It is adjacent to the beating of his heart; to the rapid, incessant whirring of his head.  
He’s thinking about what Ed said earlier, about Sam’s madhouse, and, more importantly, about Louis.  
And he feels sad. Just sad. Not heartbroken, or anything-- just sad. And helpless. It engulfs and sinks his chest into cold water.  
How can Louis have this twisted vision of himself that drives him to believe that everything good that happens to him is ephemeral?  
Mix it up with love and wanting to do the right thing and you get a nice breakup before this love story even truly began.  
Harry gets up and goes to his piano, ready to get to work.

I can see the pain behind your eyes  
It's been there for quite a while  
I just wanna be the one to remind you what it is to smile  
I would like to show you what true love can really do

Let me love you  
And I will love you  
Until you learn to love yourself  
Let me love you  
And all your trouble  
Don't be afraid, oh I can help  
Let me love you  
And I will love you  
Until you learn to love yourself  
Let me love you  
A heart of numbness, gets brought to life  
I'll take you there

Harry feels a little better when he finishes recording the song, even though his eyes are stinging and he has a terrifying sense of loss in his chest.  
He hesitates a little but with trembling fingers, he sends the file to Louis.

**

It’s 10 P.M when Louis hears a loud bang on his door.  
“Lou, we’re going out. Get your arse out off you fucking couch and open up.” Liam says, unceremoniously, to the closed door.  
“There’s a bread van outside.” Zayn calls, like it’s fucking bait, and Louis, despite his mood, can’t stop himself from laughing.  
“Yeah, man.” Niall’s voice comes through the door. “I left Sam fending for herself with her siblings to be here. It wasn’t pretty. So don’t leave us hanging.  
Zayn, Niall, and Liam.  
Are they all there?  
Louis opens the door, but barely.  
The three of them are stood outside, dressed in nightwear, with goofy smiles on their faces. Louis tries to hide his disappointment at the lack of the curly-headed boy stood outside with suave, leaning up against the door to disguise the rush of butterflies in his stomach, trying to contain the nervous smile bubbling up inside of him.  
“You said something about a bread van?” He asks, curious.  
The three of them smile.  
“Get ready. It’s a bro date.” Liam says, cheekily.

**

“You lied!” Louis says, grumpily crushed between Zayn and Niall in the backseat of Liam’s tiny Mini Cooper. “Al, I’m very disappointed in you.”  
Alberto just rolls his eyes, arms crossed in the passenger seat.  
“You’re such a diva, Lou.” Niall says, shaking his head from beside him.  
“We’re going bowling. I must love you because I hate bowling.” Zayn says, cheek nearly squished up against the window.  
“That’s because you play like my great aunt Greta, babe.” Liam says, batting his eyelashes from the front seat.  
Louis laughs.  
Zayn just shrugs moodily.  
“I’ll teach you, I promise.” Liam grins.  
Louis looks between them and smiles.  
He doesn’t comment.

**

The bowling alley is quite full for the late hour, drunken stragglers not quite going home, groups of friends laughing over terrible aims. They’re sat in one of the booths, waiting for Zayn and Liam to finish their turns, bowling shoes on, and a huge coca cola plastered inbetween them.  
“A year ago you would have been all over that.” Louis points at the busty brunette giving Niall sly looks from over the ticket desk.  
“I know.” Niall laughs. “It feels like ages ago.”  
“Do you miss it? Being a free agent?”  
“Not even a little bit.”  
Louis nods.  
“I get to wake up next to the person I love every day. You should try it sometime.” Niall nudges him.  
Louis smiles privately, laughs, and then says---“Hunter, tied down to a female version of myself. Who would have thought?”  
Niall snorts so cola comes out of his nose.  
Louis is laughing as Niall grabs him, ruffling his hair madly, elbows skirting across the table. “Take that back!”  
“I can’t, it’s the truth!”  
Niall is relentless. “I have disturbing images in my head now, take that back!”  
And then the next few minutes are spent like this; laughing and spluttering over the booth seats, giggling ferociously as Zayn and Liam struggle in the background. When they quieten, and Niall finally lets go of Louis, they stay sprawled out over the leather seats, Louis’ head resting on Niall’s forearm, happy feelings buzzing around their heads.  
“Sam was a good choice.” Louis says.  
“I’m glad you gave her a chonce.” Niall turns to face him.  
“I’m glad I gave her a chonce too.”  
“Are you mocking my accent, you little shit?”  
“I would never.” Louis says, mock offended.  
They sit in companionable silence for a moment. Louis fishes up his phone from his trouser pocket, still lying on Niall’s arm, and sends a text to Sam--

\--I’m sorry I was a dick when we first met.  
She responds in seconds.  
\--I forgive you, you shithead. Don’t be a stranger.

“Who are you texting?” Niall asks Louis, tilting his chin down, as to see.  
“I’m starting my two steps program.” Louis slips his phone back into his trousers.  
Niall gives him a questioning look.  
“First step, refraining from being a dick. Second step, apologizing for being a dick.”  
“Do you have a whole week to spare? Cause apologising to Nick alone will take you at least that.” Niall winks.  
And Louis just laughs.  
After that, they sit up once more, and get back to watching Liam trying (and failing) to teach Zayn how to bowl.  
Liam is all quiet mumbles and soft touches plastered on Zayn’s back despite Zayn’s bad losing attitude, and Louis can see, despite their differing personalities, how their movements are almost harmonious. They’re in tune with each other. They trust each other.  
They’re in love.  
I want this.  
“Lou. let’s order the biggest fucking ice cream sundae this shitty place has to offer.” Niall suddenly blurts, slamming his fist on the table. “What say you?”  
“Oi Oiiiiii!”  
And, yeah, it’s freaking big. There’s no way they can manage it, even with Niall’s legendary appetite. In the end, they have to ask Zayn and Liam for help.  
“I can’t eat anymore, man, I'm going to fucking burst.” Zayn says, when there’s still a good half of the ice cream left.  
Louis has been awfully quiet since they began their eating spree. In fact, Zayn is pretty sure Louis has barely touched the freaking sundae to begin with.  
He nudges him.  
“Eat, you bugger.”  
“I’m not really hungry, to be honest.” Louis shrugs.  
“Are you afraid of filling out your trademark cheekbones?” Zayn says, slinging his arm around Louis’ shoulders. He’s lightened up a little since Liam has paid some attention to him.  
“Please. I look fabulous. Cheekbones or not.” Louis plays it cool, but there’s no light in his eyes.  
It’s the inside that needs some fixing.  
“Hey. You’re fabulous from the inside out, Lou.” Liam says, pointedly, like he can read Louis’ mind.  
“Yeah!” Zayn approves.  
“You’re the bestest.” Niall cooes.  
And now, he misses Harry.  
But it’s alright, Louis guesses. He’s surrounded by people supporting him no matter what, and he feels like he’s part of something again. And they bowl, and they laugh , and Louis looks at them and thinks--  
I don’t deserve this.  
At the end of the night, they drop Louis off at his place, showering him with hugs at the doorstep before retreating back into the car. Before they leave, Zayn lingers with him outside the door, and says--  
“It’s going to be alright.”  
And Louis nearly fucking cries on the spot.  
“God, not you too, Z.”  
But he’s smiling. Zayn pulls him into a hug, clapping him on the back, and then says-- “We’re all here if you need us, you know that, right?”  
Louis breaks away and says-- “Yeah.”  
Zayn pats his cheek, walks down the steps, and Louis watches them with a smile as they drive off in the stupid Mini Cooper; three friends, with so much of a place in Louis’ heart.

**

It’s 3 a.m when Louis opens the file Harry sent him, and he listens to it in loop until sunrise.  
In the morning, he sends a text to Harry.

\-- You never give up, do you?

It’s minutes later that Harry replies.

\-- I’ll never give up on you.

**

“Louis. Open up man, it’s me.”  
It’s two days later that Louis hears Ed calling through the door, voice cutting through the video game he and Liam are playing, causing a quizzical look to spring over his face and his frown to lower.  
Liam shrugs. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t call him.”  
Louis pauses the game, gets up from the sofa, and meets Ed, barefoot, in the hallway. He’s wearing jogging bottoms and a beanie, and the place looks way tidier than it did before. And Louis looks better, too-- healthier, like the life has been put back into his cheeks.  
Ed is is silent when Louis opens the door, but he’s smiling. Louis watches with a frown as Ed reaches underneath his jacket, and unfolds a blue sign that has---‘So you’re gay. Love you no matter what’-- printed across in bright felt letters.  
Louis feels his lips quivering, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just grabs Ed by the neck, and hugs him tight.  
“Harry called me.” Ed whispers, voice quiet against the crook of Louis’ neck.  
Liam grabs his jacket and gets up. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”  
When he’s gone, Louis draws back, fighting tears, and says--- “Do you want some tea, Gingerbread?”  
“I think I need whiskey, but since it’s not even noon yet, tea it is.”

**

“So.” Louis hands Ed a cup of tea over the counter, trying to keep his wrist from wavering as he makes the exchange.  
“So.” Ed smiles a little as he takes a sip.  
“Harry called you.” Louis says.  
“Yes. He’s worried about you. Quite frankly, I am too.”  
“I’ll be alright.”  
“See, you always say that.” Ed rolls his eyes. “You always deflect from serious topics of discussion.”  
“What do you want me to say, Ed?”  
“The truth, for once in your bloody life.”  
“What? C’mon, Ed, that’s not fair. You’ve known me all my life. You know all there is to know! And the last bit-- I mean--- Harry just told you.”  
Ed looks extremely pained for a moment, like he’s being forced to do something he doesn’t want to. And then, he puts his cup down on the counter, sighs, and looks right at Louis.  
“I want to talk about Stewart.”  
Louis is horrified.  
“St-- No. No! It was forever ago. He has nothing to do with this -- Let it go.”  
“You want me to believe that the gay kid you and your ex-friends bullied into transferring schools doesn’t have anything to do with this? That is bloody rich.”  
Louis is shellshocked.  
“Hey, I didn’t bully him--- it’s not what happened and you know it!” Louis is shaking his head, upset, trying not to break down completely. “Wait, tell me you didn’t say anything about Stewie to Harry?”  
“No.” Ed shakes his head. “I would never. But I think you should.”  
Louis doesn’t say anything. He begins to play with his sleeves, suddenly very quiet.  
But Ed continues regardless. “Stewie. I think you fancied him.”  
Louis looks at him but doesn’t say anything.  
Ed draws in a long breath. “I think you liked him and that you hated yourself for it.”  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Lou. Stewie was your friend and then suddenly he wasn’t. What happened between the two of you?”  
“No! We were like, what, twelve, thirteen? I was happy that I had Stewie when you weren’t going to the same school as me. It was nice to have a friend there. But then I met Oli and Cal and he just didn’t fit in. And then Stewie told me he fancied me and I told them and then everything went to shit.”  
Ed looks pained.  
Louis looks at the floor. “I guess I didn’t want to like him like that, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I fancied him.”  
Ed watches as Louis draws in a shaky breath, the realization of his actions caving in on him like a mountain crumbling to the ground-- the rubble causing a shortage of breath and a rumbling feeling in his chest that he just can’t let go. “Oli and Cal were horrible to him. And I let them. Oh god. What I did was even worse.”  
“Back then, when Stewart told you how he felt, why did you tell Oli and Cal?”  
Louis covers his face. “I don’t know. Maybe I was gauging their reaction, maybe I wanted to know that it was okay. But it wasn’t. They made fun of him constantly, even before. And you remember how I was back then. I wanted to fit in, I wanted people to like me. I wanted him out of school because having him there was too hard for me. He made me think about things I didn’t want to think about. I hated him for it. I hated myself even more. And for a long time I feel like I’ve--- buried this part of me.”  
“Until Harry.”  
“Yeah.”  
Ed smiles.  
Louis peeks through his hands. “How is he? Harry.”  
“He’s… I don’t know. I don’t know him well enough to tell you. He tells me he loves you and that you don’t believe him, so I suppose he’s been better. Do you love him?”  
“I do.”  
“So why don’t you give him a chance?”  
“It’s not like that. Harry-- He’s warm and kind, and compassionate and just-- just wonderful. And when he smiles... God, it’s like Christmas came fucking early, or something.” Louis can’t help smiling despite it all. “Why would he settle for me when he can have the world? I don’t understand it.”  
Ed purses his lips. “Mayyyyyyyyyybe because he’s choosing to?”  
Louis doesn’t look convinced.  
“Look, you have two choices here. Either you break his heart, or you give in to what you both deserve and be happy. It doesn’t seem that hard a choice from where I stand.”

**

They spend the day together, talking it out, and Louis feels like a huge fucking weight has been lifted from his chest, he really does.  
When Louis accompanies Ed to the door, Ed suddenly drifts to a halt, fingers retrieving a small envelope from his back pocket, placing it squarely in Louis’ palm.  
“I forgot to give you it before.” He says, almost as an afterthought, and then he’s gone.  
Louis kicks the door shut before opening it. He’s never been much good with patience-- and opening things is no exception. The envelope is big, way bigger than it’s contents when he tears the top open, and he finds even his fingers to seem colossal compared to the tiny objects inside.  
He retrieves them nonetheless. Inside, is what looks like a reel of photographs, crumpled and old, in black and white, and from what Louis guesses to be three or four years ago. But he’s never seen them before. He and Harry are stood in the foreground, smiling goofily at each other, Harry’s mouth open, like he’s about to say something especially dumb and amazing.  
But it’s the tone of the images that strikes him. In each one, they’re moving into different positions-- in one, Louis putting a felt mustache in front of his lips, in another, Harry wearing incredibly large 3-D glasses. Yes, it was a while ago, yes, Louis’ hair is awful, and yes, Harry looks so unbelievably young back then, what with his lips too large for his face and whatnot - but the tone of the photograph is the same tone that strikes Louis now. It’s the only feeling that resonates to him as he flicks through, his hands slightly trembling, his stomach in turmoil.  
Love.  
God, they were so young back then. So incredibly oblivious.  
Louis finds himself clasping one of his hands on his mouth as his eyes centre on Harry’s face, unable to stop his mouth from shaking. And then, he turns the photograph around.

“I could not tell you if I loved you the first moment I saw you, or if it was the second or third or fourth. But I remember the first moment I looked at you walking toward me and realized that somehow the rest of the world seemed to vanish when I was with you.”


	17. 16

Chapter 16

 

Settle down, it'll all be clear  
Don't pay no mind to the demons  
They fill you with fear  
The trouble it might drag you down  
If you get lost, you can always be found  
Just know you're not alone  
'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home  
\- ”Home” (accoustic version) by Phillip Phillips  
Chapter Notes  
See the end of the chapter for notes

 

**

Mid August, 2014

“That was reckless, Harry!”  
It’s a very upset Liam that shows up at Harry’s doorstep, literally fuming, eyebrows low and temper ebbing from his every step.  
“I can’t believe you.” He continues. “I told you that I was handling it, didn’t I?”  
Harry is having none of Liam’s bullshit right now. He walks into the living room, leaving the front door open for Liam to follow him.  
“You left me in the dark.” Harry fumbles with the rings on his fingers, impatient. “You said you’d keep me posted and you left me dry.”  
“No. I was helping him. And I did. If you learned some patience--”  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry turns on the spot. “I’ve been waiting for him for four years. If I hadn’t pushed him he’d still be in denial, you said so yourself. It’s what he needs. You have some nerve--”  
“What if Ed didn’t react the way you thought he would, huh?” Liam crosses his arms. “What if he told his family?”  
“Ed would never!”  
“You don’t fucking know that. And that’s why you don’t just go and out people!”  
Harry stops in his tracks, stunned.  
“Fuck.”  
“Fuck indeed.” Liam looks justified.  
“Fuck.” Harry puts his head in his hands, livid with himself. “What did Ed say? How did Louis react?”  
Liam sobers a little. “I don’t know, man. I left when Ed showed up.”  
“Did he give Louis my letter?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Fuck.”  
“Look.” Liam sighs, anger wearing off into concern. “He’s better, I swear. Please don’t do anything stupid. Give him some breathing room, would you?”  
Harry sighs. “I don’t like it when you keep me out of the loop like this.”  
“Did he contact you?”  
“No.” Harry answers, gloomily.  
“Then why am I the bad guy here?”  
Harry avoids his question, takes his head out of his hands. “The O2, tomorrow. Can I sing a song?”  
“As long as you don’t out him to the world...”

**

Harry is pacing the venue’s cafeteria, going out of his mind with worry. He’s scared.  
No, in fact, he’s terrified.  
Fucking terrified that he’s angered, hurt, or even worse, lost Louis forever. All because he couldn’t shut his own damn fucking mouth-- because he, as a person, couldn’t stop being so impatient and reckless to even think of the consequences of what he did before he did it-- what he did to Louis. It’s infuriating. There hasn’t been any sign of Louis in days, and Liam isn’t telling him anything, and fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck---  
The others are here too, carefully avoiding engaging with Harry, sat around tables and anxiously sipping on hot coffee. Scarlett and Sebastian are sat on either side of Sam, frowning at Harry’s every move, having been brought by their sister to see the show.  
Some show it’s going to be, if Harry can’t fucking stop overthinking things.  
“Would you sit down. He’s going to show up.” Sam says, grabbing his arm in passing. “Scar, make some room for Mopy Harry please.”  
Harry comes to a halt, brows low, sorrowfully taking a seat on the end of the bench and resting his head on the table. When Scarlett reaches out a hand to gently pat his hair, he lets her.  
“Sammy, this day has sucked so far.” Sebastian says from across Harry. “I came to see the Sassmaster from Doncaster and so far I’ve only gotten to listen to Uncle Niall’s lame impressions.”  
“Langage, Seb!” Sam says.  
“You little shit!” Niall ruffles the back of Seb’s hair.  
He scowls. “What? I’m just disappointed, is all.”  
Liam and Zayn can’t refrain from laughing at the other side of the table.  
“Please don’t encourage him.” Sam sighs at them.  
“I mean, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…” Liam says, still laughing.  
“I’m very polite.” Scarlett adds, still patting Harry’s hair, sticking her bottom lip out.  
“Yes, you are.” Sam pats her back and glares at Liam.  
“Where is Louis, even?” Sebastian asks. “Aren’t you supposed to perform soon?”  
“Don’t ask me.” Harry says, chin on the table. “M’literally the last to know.”  
“Stop sulking.” Sam slaps him on the back of the head. “He’ll show up. He always does. Right, lads?”  
The boys nod patiently.  
“Oh my fucking god.” Liam then says, eyes on the door.  
“No way.” Zayn huffs.  
Niall is livid all of a sudden.  
“Wh--?” Sam begins.  
Harry turns around, expecting to see Louis.  
“Well, if it isn’t One Direction’s biggest fan! What a nice surprise!” Liam laughs nervously.  
“Hi Suz.” Niall says, in the smallest voice, suddenly extremely nervous. “Long time no see.”  
“Boys! I’m so happy to see you lot!” Susan hugs Liam and Zayn. “Harry, you’ve grown since we last saw each other!”  
Harry smiles genuinely at that. It’s not long before Susan has made her way over to Niall, placing her hands on his shoulders.  
“Niall.” She looks at him fondly. “I’ve missed you, my little Irish hurricane.”  
Then, she hugs him. Niall looks like he’s going to be sick, and Sam looks more than suspicious, like she’s sensing the tension in the room but incapable of pinpointing what’s wrong.  
“Hello. I’m Sam.” Sam says to Susan, from behind Niall’s shoulder.  
Niall immediately takes a step back, eyes wide. “Suz, this is Sam.”  
“She just said that, Ni.” Susan huffs.  
“Yeah. This is my good friend Sam.”  
“Did you just say good friend?” Sebastian-the little shit-Norton interjects.  
Sam looks at Niall expectantly, eyes almost accusing.  
Niall instantly panics. “No I said girlfriend, Seb, but thank you for pointing that out.”  
“Nice to meet you, Susan.” Sam shakes Susan’s hand, keeping suspicious eye contact with Niall.  
“Will you be watching the show?”  
“Yes! It’s been so long since I saw the boys on stage! Where is Louis?”  
“The million dollar question!” Seb states, overly bored.  
Sam glares at him. “Susan, I’ll be watching with my siblings if you want to join us.”  
Niall lets a pained sound escape him. Sam looks more confused than ever.  
“This is a disaster.” Liam mumbles. Zayn nudges him in the ribs.  
“That would be lovely, Samantha.” Susan cooes.  
“Lads. Show time. Hi Suzy!”  
It’s then that everyone looks up, because yes, there’s another person coming through the door. And yes, it’s Louis-- entering like everything is normal, looking oddly sallower and thinner than the last time Harry saw him. For a few seconds, everyone is stunned silent.  
Harry wants to fucking strangle him.  
The boys begin to follow Louis out of the door, table long forgotten, Seb and Scarlett bickering all of the way. Just before they exit, however, Niall pauses to talk to Sam.  
“Sam, hun, ummm, I need to tell you something important after the show.” Niall scratches the back of his neck.  
In the hallway leading them to the stage, Louis slows down and waits for Harry to catch up, which is both unexpected, but extraordinarily lovely.  
Louis grabs Harry’s hand all of a sudden. He looks up, rather hesitantly, biting his bottom lip.  
“After?” Louis says, voice quiet.  
“Yeah.” Harry nods.  
Harry can clearly make out the set of photographs sticking out of Louis’ jean back pocket when they get on stage, even blinded by the lights.  
He doesn’t find the words to comment.

**  
The show is good, better than it has been in a while, actually. The twins spend the majority of the night dancing sillily to songs they don’t know that well, Seb making up and belting out the lyrics tragically wrong for half of them. At midpoint, Scarlett gets brought on stage, and hides wholeheartedly behind Niall’s legs the whole time, only uprooting from her spot when Harry piggybacks her back to Sam.  
And yeah, it’s pretty cute.  
Seb keeps waggling a sign in the air with “I AM HERE FOR THE SASSMASTER’ printed on it on huge letters, with the word ‘Sassmaster’ tragically scribbled out in angry red marker and replaced with ‘Liam’ over the top. Everytime Louis passes it, it makes him smile, partially because Seb sticks his tongue out everytime Louis walks around their side of the stage, and partially because Liam is absolutely convinced that he is now Seb’s favourite.  
All the meanwhile, Susan is dancing and bouncing to the beat, twirling around and having a blast. Every once in awhile, she sends a kiss towards Niall, who just blinks and waves back awkwardly.  
Sam merely snaps photos with pursed lips, squinting between them.  
Louis seems to enjoy himself on stage, but he’s a bit awkward around Harry, who’s not exactly at ease himself either. They keep glancing at each other, making eye contact for little too long, forgetting tracks of thought and pathways at the silent behest of the other. It’s weird.  
Nice, but...weird.

**  
“So are you enjoying the new stuff as much as we are?” Liam asks the crowd, near the end, when all of the lights have become brighter and the fans have become ecstatic.  
Loud cheers sound.  
Zayn nods.  
“Because Harry has prepared a special song for tonight, right Hazza?” Liam asks, while the piano is being wheeled on.  
Harry nods. “Yeah. I’ve been writing it for about four years now, give or take.”  
Niall laughs and Louis shakes his head, because he knows.  
He knows it’s for him.  
So he sits on the piano, jumping swiftly onto it, feeling his heart pulse madly in his chest, feeling his insides lighten at every breath he takes as Harry begins to fill the room with his voice. He’s looking straight at Louis for the entirety of it, incredibly calm and close, his notes determined, his voice steady. The crowd goes wild at each and every chord, filling the silence between words with rapid, ecstatic screams, masking the trembling breaths coming out of Louis like a fucking construction line and making him appear mesmerized.  
And, for the most part, he is.

This is my love song to you  
Let every woman know I'm yours  
So you can fall asleep each night, babe  
And know I'm dreaming of you more  
You're always hoping that we make it  
You always want to keep my gaze  
Well you're the only one I see love  
And that's the one thing that won't change

I will never stop trying  
I will never stop watching as you leave  
I will never stop losing my breath  
Every time I see you looking back at me  
And I will never stop holding your hand  
I will never stop opening your door  
I will never stop choosing you babe  
I will never get used to you

And with this love song to you  
It's not a momentary phase  
You are my life, I don't deserve you  
But you love me just the same  
And as the mirror says we're older  
I will not look the other way  
You are my life, my love, my only  
And that's the one thing that won't change

You still get my heart racing  
You still get my heart racing for you  
You still get my heart racing  
You still get my heart racing for you

Harry feels oddly calm at the end, finally able to put it all out in the open for Louis, feeling his chest lighten and the world become just that little bit brighter.  
Louis looks beautiful right now; clearly moved by the song, eyes shining bright, lips trembling despite there being no cold.  
He doesn’t say anything, but Harry knows.

 

**

At the end of the show, Niall grabs Harry by the arm.  
“Fuck, Harry.” He looks wrought with worry, running fingertips through blonde hair, eyes darting all over the place. “What do I tell Sam about Susan? I don’t know what to do here.”  
Harry is distracted. He’d much rather be talking to Louis right now. “Ummm, what about the truth?”  
“Fuck no. She’d never understand.”  
“Hey, listen to me.” Harry grabs him by the shoulders, suddenly extremely stern. “Nothing good comes from lying. Trust me on this. And don’t underestimate her. You have something so good. You don’t know how lucky you are. Don’t screw it up.”  
Niall nods, clearly thinking about Harry’s words.  
But when Harry turns around, letting go of Niall’s shoulders, Louis is gone. Harry looks around the venue for a long time afterwards, almost frantically, but with no success.  
Fuck.  
He’s just about giving up, sorrow-sunken shoulders leading him back to the green room, when a stumble of feet and a blur of skinny jeans bump into him on the way there. Harry almost falls at the intersection, leaning back against the wall, but when he sees who it is, he’s instantly steadied.  
Louis.  
“Careful there.” Louis takes ahold of Harry’s arm, steadying him, grinding Harry’s Bambi movements abruptly to a halt.  
“Lou. Thank God you’re still here.” Harry exhales, relieved.  
“I was looking for you, actually.”  
“M’so sorry. About Ed and shit. Fuck. I did everything wrong.”  
Louis squints, puzzled, if almost to say what the fuck are you on about, before grabbing his hand and guiding him to the nearest room available in a hurry.  
Harry lingers near the door as Louis walks fully inside, pacing, searching for words to say and running his hands through his hair. Harry holds his breath, looking for signs.  
Of anything, really.  
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Louis finally says, still pacing. “He was great. Ed was great. Please don’t feel bad.”  
Harry nods from across the room, hesitant.  
“Actually, it was a relief, you know, ummm, being able to talk to him. About this.” Louis makes a big gesture.  
Harry nods again, almost afraid to move, waiting for Louis to continue. Moving from one foot to another like a giant fucking flamingo.  
Louis sighs dramatically, ceasing his pacing mantra. “Shit. I suck at this.”  
“No. You’re--”  
Louis cuts him off.  
“The song...Thank you. It really means alot to me… More… More than I could ever say. I don’t know if I--” Louis is clearly emotional right now, the palm of his hand square on his mouth, his eyes evidently on the fringe of tears.  
Harry takes a step towards him, but Louis holds his hand up to stop him from coming closer.  
“Lou, I love you. I can say without any shadow of a doubt in my mind or in my heart that I completely, undeniably, sincerely love you.” Harry says, eyes bright, heart hammering rapidly in his chest.  
“Good.” Louis nods, smiling sheepishly.  
“Good?” Harry looks puzzled, but he’s smiling.  
“Yeah.” Louis says, simply, shrugging amidst his smiles. “Well, same here.”  
“So eloquent.” Harry teases.  
“I’m sorry-- don’t laugh at me! I’m tired from soul searching or whatever, not sleeping because someone keeps waking me up with beautiful songs in the middle of the night about how wonderful I am!” Louis takes a step towards Harry. “Excuse you.”  
Harry laughs and takes a step toward Louis.  
“I’m tired of running Haz. I’m so, so tired of running.” Another step.  
“So how about, I just stop for a while…” Another step. “And if you wanted to, like, I don’t know, stop with me or whatever…”  
Another step. “I’d really, really, really like it.”  
One more step and he’s right in front of Harry.  
“I’m sorry for being an insecure twat.” Louis says, in a small voice looking down and tugging at Harry’s shirt.  
“But you’re my insecure twat.”  
“That I am.”  
“Come here.”  
Louis leans forward on tiptoes, his hands pressed up against his collarbones and his sleeves covering the skin up to his knuckles, and deposits a gentle kiss onto Harry’s lips. He’s about to stop when Harry engulfs him in his arms, lifting him up and deepening the kiss, allowing Louis to put his arms around Harry’s neck and, for a few seconds, to completely forget about the world outside.  
When they break away again, Harry has put him down on the floor, still keeping him close, Louis’ hands on Harry’s shoulders and noses barely touching.  
Louis looks up with bright eyes, eyelashes fluttering, lips parted and pink.  
“I love you.” He says, looking very very serious.  
“And I love you.”  
Will you ever forgive me for all the shit I put you through?”  
Harry smiles. “Do you know me at all?”

**

The good thing about being back in London for a few shows is that they can go home and sleep in their own beds...  
Although home is where the heart is.  
Louis smiles at that very idea. They’re in the back of the car leading them out of the venue’s parking lot, hand in hand, Louis playing absentmindedly with Harry’s fingers. He keeps rotating Harry’s rings and smiling when Harry pouts at him.  
“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.” Louis says, after a while.  
Harry smiles. “Good, because I was planning on taking you home with me.”  
Louis smiles sheepishly, biting his lip.  
“Forget about sleeping, though.” Harry huffs, devilish smile cutting through his amusement.  
Alberto sighs dramatically from the front seat, shaking his head. The things that man sees and hears, honestly. Louis should probably give him a raise.

**

“Don’t mind the mess.” Harry says, once he opens the front door.  
Louis raises an eyebrow, because there’s literally nothing out of place in Harry’s house. It’s bathed in moonlight only before Harry flicks the light on; neat piles of clothing, newspapers, and books stacked all in their rightful places. The curtains are drawn almost in every room, dim light casting warm, homey light across the walls, and the house is cosy despite the cool night outside.  
Louis stays by the door, looking a little uneasy and careful, as Harry rushes around him, removing his jacket and shoes, adjusting the thermostat, only realizing Louis’ withdrawn stance once he turns around.  
He steps close to him, reassuring, placing big warm hands on Louis’ shoulders and taking his jacket off, hanging it neatly on the coatrack beside.  
“Thanks.” Louis murmurs.  
“Come on.” Harry grabs Louis’ hand and leads him to the sofa. “Sit, I’ll make us a drink.”  
Harry goes to the kitchen, but Louis halts in his steps and instead walks into the dining room, where Harry’s grand piano sits squarely in front of two huge patio doors. He looks reverently at it, placing a gentle hand over the mahogany, patting the surface like it holds all of Harry’s secrets before sitting down and moving the fallboard up. His movements are slow and gentle as he begins to play, the notes coming naturally to him as his eyes flutter shut, barely noticing Harry watching him in the doorway.  
Louis is playing a bittersweet melody. Harry watches him for a few seconds, a soft smile on his face, before planting the drinks on the coffee table and placing a gentle hand on Louis’ shoulder.  
“Hey.” Harry says. “No sad songs.”  
Louis nods, eases his playing to a stop, before turning and looking at him. Harry shifts, placing himself between Louis and the piano keys, his bum making a couple of notes in the process, before sinking a little and searching Louis’ eyes. Louis simply sighs, chewing his bottom lip and placing the top of his head on Harry’s stomach, his hands resting on the back of Harry’s thighs.  
Harry immediately puts his hands in Louis’ hair, stroking soothingly.  
Louis raises his head.  
“I missed you.” Louis looks sad and serious all of a sudden, and then, there’s a beat of silence. “I missed you so fucking much.”  
Louis encircles Harry’s waist, his head on Harry’s stomach again.  
Harry holds him.  
“I feel like I’ve missed you all my life.” He says, into Harry’s waist. The sound of his voice is muffled by the fabric.  
Harry looks uncertain at Louis’ sudden sadness, but feels joyful at the sweet words coming from him.  
Louis raises his head again, and, without making eye contact, begins to unbutton Harry’s shirt. Once it’s completely open, he parts the shirt, placing his hands on either side of Harry’s waist, and stares at the butterfly for a few seconds. Harry watches him do this, an oddly attentive feeling taking over him, all he can see of Louis’ eyes the long eyelashes that crowd them.  
Louis gets up suddenly, letting go of Harry’s waist, and crowds him against the piano. Harry loses his equilibrium at this, quickly placing his hands behind him and leaning on the piano, notes resonating again through the silence at his panic. Louis makes gentle eye contact, brushing a strand of hair from Harry’s face with the palm of his hand, stroking his cheek in the process, watching Harry’s eyes flutter shut at the attention. And then, he grabs him by the neck, making him lean down and meet him for a kiss, the movement making Harry’s bum make more music notes on the keys.  
Louis pulls Harry up with a hand securely on the back of Harry’s thigh, so that he’s now seated squarely on the piano, Harry looking down at Louis, a hand softly pressed against his cheek. They kiss again, more intently this time, breath becoming laboured as legs brush against the keys with each movement they make-- everything slow, intense, meaningful.  
And then, Louis pushes Harry back with his hand pressed to Harry’s butterfly, music notes resonating in the room again. Harry is laid on his back now, his pale torso moving up and down erratically, making a beautiful contrast to the darkness of the black piano cover.  
Louis mouths at the butterfly. “One day you’re gonna tell me all the secrets hiding behind your tattoos.”  
It’s more to himself than Harry.  
That night, on the piano, their bodies compose the most beautiful symphony Harry’s ever heard.

 

**

It’s later on in the night that they’re laid quietly in bed, extremely peaceful and docile, Louis on top of Harry’s torso and their legs intertwined below sheets.  
“Hey.” Harry eventually says, voice deep with sleep, hands lazily brushing through Louis’ hair--- “Are you okay?”  
“I’m more than okay.” Louis smiles against Harry’s chest. “I’m finally home.”

**

The next few days are just bliss. When they’re not performing, they honestly don’t leave the house, happy to be together again, days filled with kisses and smiles and love declarations whispered on skin.  
It’s like something unlocked in Louis’ heart. Some kind of heaviness has been lifted, and all he needed was a few hours to adjust. Blame it on his untrusting nature, blame it on anything, but now, it’s like he can breathe easier, like his ribcage has expanded to let all of his feelings out. He feels like he could sing as high as Zayn, laugh as loudly as Niall, think as clearly as Liam and … love as much as Harry.  
So it feels natural to him to update their friends on the new development of their relationship, the general reaction being “About fucking time.” They’re good. Things are good. They’re getting reacquainted to each other, getting used to being this close again, feeling at peace with the world.  
But, Louis supposes, sooner or later, they have to resurface to the world. So when Sam calls Louis for the 5th time that day, he has to pick up. He has an inkling of what the current situation is with her, Harry having received a warning text from Niall earlier on that morning -- (I should have never listened to you, Sam is about to grow a second head)-- But if he’s going to be completely honest, all he wants is to stay in his love bubble for a little longer.  
It is what it is, though. If there’s one thing Louis has learned, the worst thing you can do to Sam is not pay her the attention she deserves.  
“You’re being ridiculous right now.” He ends up on the phone with her seated on Harry’s couch, with sweatpants rolled over his ankles and one of Harry’s old t-shirts hanging over his shoulders. “Of course he doesn’t have any lingering feelings for her, come on!”  
Harry is hanging around the room, busy making a playlist on his phone and huffing, listening to the conversation with half ears.  
“Oh my god you’re hilarious -- You are -- No, no.” Louis is laughing and rolling his eyes. “What do you mean I’m one to talk? I’m not the jealous type.”  
Harry cackles. Louis glares at him.  
Harry comes over to the couch, leaning in to Louis’ ear not occupied with the phone, and whispers-- “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”  
Louis bats him off, but he’s smiling.  
Instead of getting back to his playlist, Harry begins kissing Louis’ neck, brushing his hands over his shoulders, nipping at his skin.  
“Give me a sec, she’s having a crisis, Haz.” Louis says.  
Harry nods, looking innocent, but doesn’t stop.  
“Insecure doesn’t suit you, Sammy.”  
Harry sinks down to his knees and shuffles between Louis’ legs. Louis raises his eyebrows at that, but doesn’t say anything as Harry puts his chin on his knee, watching him talk animatedly for a while.  
When he gets bored, however, he shuffles closer, on his knees, right between Louis’ legs. He looks up at Louis as he nuzzles his bulge with his nose, watching Louis shuffle and squirm at the touch. He looks down at Harry, amazed, mouthing-- “What are you doing?”-- through his smile.  
“Of course you’re way sexier than her, jeez! It’s not even up for debate!”  
Harry continues to nudge his nose up and down, smile increasing as Louis continues to shuffle, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. And then, Harry begins to tug a little at the hem of Louis’ sweats, tempting. Louis eventually caves, smiling, letting Harry shuffle his sweatpants down to his knees.  
“Fuck you! Adidas are sexy!”  
Harry continues to tug at the hem of his sweatpants, edging, pressing kisses all the way down Louis’ legs as it falls to his ankles. Harry lifts both of Louis’ feet, casting the sweatpants aside, shuffling closer, watching Louis the whole time as he continues to nudge his nose against Louis’ bulge. Louis keeps shuffling in vain, trying to concentrate on Sam’s ranting.  
“Harry,” he says, softly, covering the phone.  
Harry then finds the tip of Louis’ cock through his pants, and breathes, rather deliberately, onto it-- hot, wetness making it’s way to the top of Louis’ length.  
Louis squirms.  
“Nothing. I just-- nothing.”  
Harry moves closer, placing his hands on either side of Louis’ knees, as he slowly, steadily nuzzles a long line down Louis’ cock, before settling it at the base of his balls, moving his chin up, so his lips meet the fabric. Louis is barely breathing at this point, stone still.  
Harry knows exactly what he’s doing.  
He presses a slow, firm kiss to the fabric before moving up once more, teasing, looking right at Louis’ face as he licks a stripe up the fabric of his pants.  
Louis lets out a quick, laboured breath. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t.  
Instead, he widens his legs a little more, giving Harry more access, closing his eyes, humming once in awhile when Sam pauses her ranting.  
Harry smirks. He sits up a little more, teeth tugging at Louis’ t-shirt, gently biting at the skin underneath through the material. Then, he squats again, face adjacent to Louis’ cock, and then, he’s nuzzling Louis’ tip with his nose.  
Louis shuffles. His breath is caught in his throat. “You should… ummmm, talk to… ummm...”  
He can’t seem to find the words. Harry is gentle, calm, knowing, as he continues these movements, a little faster, and then, with his chin.  
Louis squirms again, readjusting his position, tugging nervously at the hem of his pants. Harry understands the cue, and begins to rub his fingertips up and down the bottom of Louis’ stomach, pressing soft, tender kisses up and down the fabric of his pants. They’re suddenly very hot.  
“Heurhmhm.” Louis mumbles. It comes straight from his throat.  
Harry smirks, biting at the hem of Louis’ pants with his teeth, and then, tugging them down, ever so gently, so that his cock is in show.  
Louis shivers as the cold hits his length.  
Harry presses a gentle, teasing kiss to the tip of Louis’ cock, and Louis lets out a strangled whimper. Harry is being unfair here.  
Harry then nuzzles the entirety of Louis’ length, from top to bottom, with his lips, and then, comes back up, licking a straight, wet line with his tongue. Louis’ hips jar upwards.  
“Harry is ummm--” He begins, voice choked, but is stopped, as cool, tender fingertips begin to stroke up and down his inner thighs.  
He clenches his bum as they near his cock, which is straining for attention now-- and Harry lets out a chuckle, loud and breathy.  
“Occupied at the moment.” Louis mumbles, neck flushed.  
Harry comes closer. He presses a teasing, wet circle around the top of Louis’ cock with his lips, and then, he slowly moves them down.  
Louis takes in a huge breath. Harry slowly bobs his head up and down, lips ghosting to and fro, moving across Louis’ tip. Louis’ mouth forms an ‘o’ shape.  
Harry moves back, delighted. He continues to rub gentle, purposeful circles across Louis’ tip with his fingers, all the while watching him. Louis stares back down at him, mouth wide, cheeks flushed and hollow, as Harry continues to move his hands. Louis rocks his hips up, uncontrolling, as Harry moves his lips back over Louis’ tip, tongue licking circles into the skin, and then, drawing back once more.  
“I’ll tell him to, ummm, call you right back.” Louis pants, before hanging up hurriedly.  
Harry full-on grins. He licks another, slow stripe up Louis’ cock, before pressing kisses up to the tip-- his hands at the bottom, working steady, slow movements.  
Louis shifts forward on the sofa. The phone falls down to the floor, forgotten, as Harry continues to bob his hands up and down, and then, he takes Louis full and warm in his mouth, eyes on him, as he lets saliva drool down, down to the base of Louis’ cock.  
Louis whimpers, voice barely audible, and then begins to tremble. “H--Ha….”  
Harry smiles, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks, bobbing his head quicker, and then, slowing down just to let a trail of spit travel down Louis’ cock, smudging past his tip.  
“Please. Please. Oh God.” Louis’ cheeks flush red as Harry teases, licking small, quick stripes up and down Louis’ tip-- and then, taking him in his mouth again.  
“I’m going to come.” Louis breathes, barely, and it’s then that Harry moves back, lips popping from Louis’ cock, and continues to lick straight, steady stripes up his length. His hand is at the bottom of Louis’ length, pumping, and his lips are either ghosting over his tip or licking stripes.  
“Hhhh--” Louis gasps, and his thighs begin to shake as Harry takes him in his mouth again, pumping up and down, tongue working happy circles into the high.  
He’s at mercy to Harry now-- eyes shut tight, lips fully open. “Ohh-oohh--oohhh---”  
And then he comes, straight in Harry’s mouth, and Harry removes himself from Louis, parting his lips, so that the residue drips back down onto Louis cock and thighs. Louis stares, mouth parted, down at Harry for a while-- eyes wide, hips still rocked forwards, and then, is mesmerised as Harry takes him in his mouth again, slowly bringing him down from his high.  
“Holy shit.” Is all that Louis finds the heart to comment.  
Harry grins, considering his work done, and is about to stand and get some tissue when Louis leans down, beginning to kiss him, and saying--- “I’m going to get you back for that.”

**

They’re at their third show in London, and things are different. Like, a good different for once.  
Louis is attentive, loving, kind, flirty and yeah, kind of shameless in front of their friends, kissing him unexpectedly and frequently, leaving Harry with rosy cheeks and a dizzy heart.  
Which is new.  
They’re in the venue’s cafeteria before the show. Louis is making Harry laugh, whispering something in his ear behind cupped hands, roaming around his shoulders, hands, face. It seems like they’re in their own bubble.  
“It’s so weird.” Sam says, all kinds of amazed, snapping pictures of them every once in awhile.  
She’s stood beside a table where Niall, Zayn and Liam are sharing a meal.  
“And disgusting.” Niall says, mid bite, mouth full.  
“Disturbing, even.” Zayn says, playing with his food but incapable of stopping himself from staring.  
“Yeah, but they’re kinda cute too.” Liam says, fond.  
“Yeah.” Sam says, dreamily. “I want that.”  
“Hey. You have that.” Niall turns around and grabs her by the waist, placing her squarely in his lap.  
“Believe it or not, the caveman act is not what I’m talking about.” Sam chuckles.  
“You love it.”  
“I do. But you’re still on probation.” She teases.  
“Oh, I’ll romance my way back into your heart, like the sneaky Irishman I am.” Niall smooches her and she giggles.  
Zayn makes a gagging noise.  
“Shut up.” Sam says to Zayn, before turning back to Niall-- “Tell me more. I’m listening.”  
“Am I romancing you enough, babe?” Zayn asks Liam, a sarcastic grin making it’s way over his face.  
“Please. Since when are we using Louis or Niall as a reference for romance?”  
“Fuck you.” Niall says from the crook of Sam’s neck, where he’s occupied.

**

Meanwhile, in the ‘love bubble’, two or three tables away, Louis has his head rested on Harry’s shoulder, his hand messing with Harry’s fingers. He pauses only to lift his chin up, looking at Harry almost wonderingly, poking at his cheek with so much concentration on his face that Harry can’t help but laugh at his expression.  
“I want to take you out on a date.” Louis states, face close to Harry’s.  
“What do you mean, a date?” Harry chuckles.  
“Just a date. A proper date, where I can woo you and shit.”  
“We’ve never done that.”  
“We’ve never done a lot of things.” Louis says, regret dripping from his words. He shakes his head, however, bringing himself out of his misery to say---“Pick you up at eight sharp.”  
Harry grins lopsidedly. “Which means I have to be ready by eight thirty.”  
“Awww.” Louis peppers kisses on Harry’s face. “You know me so well, love.”

**

They go see a movie and sit right at the back, where nobody else can see them.  
It’s nice and comfy here. The last time Harry went to go see a film with Louis, it was ages ago, when they watched that movie with Sandra Bullock in it. Harry can’t remember the title. All he can remember is Louis holding his pinky out, and his own heart pounding in his chest, threatening to explode when they made contact. Things were so weird back then. He remembers feeling a bundle of nerves, getting aroused by the slight strokes of Louis’ finger on his own, craving anything from him, accepting anything at all.  
He doesn’t want to think about what happened after.  
Without thinking about it, Harry extends his pinky finger and grazes Louis’.  
Louis takes his eyes from the film, its grayscale picture casting moonlight-esque glows across his face, and looks at Harry. A cheeky smile is all Harry has to offer in response, but it must be more than enough, as Louis puts his whole hand on Harry’s, intertwining their fingers, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. You can’t tell who’s finger belongs to whom in the light, and yeah, it’s pretty special.  
Moments like this make Harry more in love with him than ever.  
Louis spends the rest of the film tracing the edges around Harry’s anchor tattoo almost absentmindedly, tugging at his rings and playing with the wristbands and bracelets he’s wearing. Harry is left in awe of how restless Louis can be while being so peaceful and pliant with his head on his shoulder.

 

**

That night, when they’re back home, they lay on the sofa in Harry’s living room. It’s quiet, it’s dark, and it’s peaceful, and Louis is drifting in and out of asleep on Harry’s shoulder, feeling a slight draft seep in through the window and brush past his neck. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of a sitcom running softly from the television and Harry’s hand in his hair, twirled somewhere at the nape of his neck.  
Between asleep and awake, it’s hard to pick up the beautiful sound; not from the audience’s playback, or the humming of the air conditioner, or the depths within his foggy brain and exhausted mindset, but Harry’s laughter.  
Short, little raspy breaths, like he’s muffling his chuckling with the pillow stuffed beneath Louis’ shoulder. Louis is lying with his head pressed in the crook of Harry’s neck, their legs entangled above and below blankets his hand tucked atop Harry’s collarbone.  
Hah.  
Heh.  
Huh.  
From what dialogue Louis can hear coming from the TV, nothing (at least to him) sounds comedic at all. But Harry’s laughing either way, and that’s all that matters, so Louis buries himself deeper into Harry’s side, warm and close, and lets Harry kiss his forehead as he drifts off back to sleep.

**

A few days later, Harry and Louis are laying in bed once more. Harry is scrolling stuff on his phone, Louis watching from his pillow, not quite asleep, not quite awake. Neither of them can be bothered to get out of bed despite it being late morning, and Harry’s bed hair is comedic splayed out against the headrest. Louis has been pestering him all morning, tugging gently on his curls, emitting various playful requests across the duvet. It’s good, and all, but Harry is really way too tired for it all to sink in.  
He groans as Louis begins to tug on his hair for the fifth time in minutes. “Louis, please. Not another serious conversation.”  
“You said we didn’t communicate enough!”  
“Yeah, well, now you’re communicating a little too much.”  
“But this is important.” Lou pouts. “Can I have a drawer?”  
“What?”  
“A drawer. You know, something you keep your clothes in. Nice shirts, pants, fluffy socks.” Louis says, leaning in to give him a playful kiss, and talking very closely to Harry’s face.  
“You hate socks.”  
“Still want the drawer.”  
Harry breaks eye contact, sitting back on the bed. stunned. He almost looks reluctant.  
“You’ve never wanted a drawer before.”  
“That’s because I always got up and left. Now that I’m staying here…” He says, seeking eye contact, and breaking Harry out of his reverie.  
Harry smiles and kisses him.  
“I know that it’ll bug you to move all your designer clothes,” Louis kisses him, holding either side of his jaw close-- “To make room for my sweatpants and cheap t-shirts.”  
They kiss again. Harry hums this time, eyes fluttered contently shut.  
“But I hope you’ll make the effort.” Louis kisses him deeper this time, gauging a more coherent reaction, straddling either side of his stomach and running thorough hands through his hair.  
It’s not soon before Harry is replying to Louis’ attempts of arousal, pressing firmer kisses along Louis’ jaw and neck, moving their lazy morning into the hyperactive sort and meshing bodies under duvets.  
After the escapade, their necks and lips are a lot redder than they used to be.

**

They’re sat at the kitchen table, having breakfast, watching the rain slop down outside. It’s pattering feverishly against the window panes, clattering against the roof, making the outside grey and the trees being weighed down. It’s a traditional summer storm-- the temperature warm nonetheless, the atmosphere calm inside despite the weather’s tantrum. Louis is reading the sports page of the newspaper, his legs crossed under the table, occasionally brushing Harry’s with his own.  
“I wanna tell my family.” Harry says, casually, watching the rain pour down.  
“Ummm, babe?” Louis says, absentmindedly.  
“I want to tell them.” Harry looks at him, intently, gauging his reaction. “About us.”  
Louis raises his head.  
“Okay.”  
Harry smiles. “When?”  
“There’s no time like the present, Curly.” Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “Aren’t they coming tonight?”  
“Yes.”  
“Gemma is going to be a tougher nut to crack than Anne, I reckon.” Louis makes a face.  
“Yeahhh…” Harry grimaces.  
“Do you think she’s going to slap me?”  
“No way. Worst case scenario, she will hit you in the nuts.”  
“That’s reassuring, H. Thanks.” Louis deadpans, sarcastic.  
“I have trust in your ability to change her mind.” Harry pats Louis’ hand. “Just be your charming self.”  
“Your sister is the only member of your family immune to the Tommo charm, I’m afraid.”  
“Be sincere. It’ll be alright.”  
Louis makes another face.  
“And if she tries to stab you, I promise I’ll rescue you.”  
“Why aren’t you more worried about this? I’m literally shitting my pants. Your sister is scary.”  
“Not as scary as your mum.” Harry is staring at his feet now.  
Louis gets up, stands behind Harry, and wraps him in his arms.  
“Hey. There will come a time when I’ll come out to my family. That I can promise you. Just… One step at a time, okay? Please?”  
Harry nods.

**

“Baby I’m so happy to see you!” Anne cooes, hugging Harry tightly.  
They’re in Harry’s dressing room before the show. Gemma is late to arrive, which does nothing to improve the mood.  
“Muuuum.” Harry beams. “I missed you.”  
Louis is stood behind him, tense, shuffling from one foot to another.  
“Louis, come and give me a hug.” Anne smiles.  
“Anne.” Louis says, stiffly, while hugging her.  
“You look good. You look happy.” She says, her attention back on Harry.  
“I am.” Harry says, smiling and taking Louis’ hand in his.  
Louis is biting his lower lip in anticipation of Anne’s reaction, heart thumping, a jittery feeling plastered all over his stomach.  
Anne is stunned, to say the least, her mouth opening and closing like a precious little goldfish.  
“Mum. I want you to meet my...ummm…”  
“Boyfriend.” Louis interjects to help Harry, smiling at him, crinkly eyed and all.  
“Yeah. My boyfriend.”  
“No way.” A voice says, from behind them.  
They all turn. It’s Gemma, having just arrived, eyes wide and her tone...interesting, to say the least. It’s not hostile, per say. But it’s not exactly nice, either, as expected.  
“Gemma, why don’t we go and talk a little, yeah?” Louis says, suddenly, inviting her to his own dressing room.  
She follows him reluctantly, arms crossed the whole way. It’s only in Louis’ dressing room that she starts to voice her mind, lips pursed, eyebrows low.  
“So, how long ‘till you run for the hills again?”  
Louis bites his lip. “Okay, so I deserved that one.”  
“Damn right you did.”  
“Gemma. Things are different--”  
“I highly doubt that.”  
“I really can’t blame you for thinking that.”  
She looks unhappy.  
“Please hear me out.” Louis says, imploring.  
Gemma glares at him, bottom lip twitching.  
“Don’t do it for me. Do it for Harry. Please.”  
Gemma seems to ponder his words before flicking lilac hair out of her face and uncrossing her arms. “Okay, I’m listening.”  
“It took me a long time to find him.” Gemma is about to interject but Louis cuts her off. “But I had to find myself first. If that makes sense.”  
Gemma gives him a doubtful look.  
Louis sighs.  
“Look. I love him. And he loves me. In the end, it’s that simple.”  
Gemma wrinkles her mouth. “If you give me the whole ‘Love conquers all’ bullshit, I swear--”  
“I want him to be happy. And I’m gonna make damn sure he is, if it’s the last thing I do.”  
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. Your track record…it’s… Do you expect me to believe that you’re committed this time? You weren’t there Lou! You didn’t see the mess he was after New years!”  
By the end of her rant, she’s yelling.  
“Hey, do you think I was better off? Do you think I didn’t beat myself up everyday for it? Do you think I had it easy? I was in hell, Gem! I may have broke his heart, but I broke mine too in the process. I think about it all the fucking time. It haunts me!” Louis is yelling too.  
He sighs, pauses, and adds, more calmly--- “Look, at the end of the day, the only forgiveness I need is his. Because God knows that I will never forgive myself. But somehow, I really want yours too because I know it’s important to him.”  
She doesn’t answer.

**

“Are you sure he’s ready, baby?” Back in Harry’s dressing room, Anne looks worried. “I mean, I’m happy if you are and I trust your judgment but--”  
“I’m sure. I’m a hundred percent sure.”  
“Because, in a relationship, it’s important that you want the same things in life, you know. Have you talked about the big things? The important things.”  
Harry looks puzzled at that, eyebrows lowering, lips parting. It takes a moment for her words to sink in.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean, is he coming out to his parents? Are you willing to live this love in secrecy? Are you planning on coming out publicly together at some point? While you’re in the band or after?”  
Harry is furrowing his brows even deeper now, looking intently at his feet. Anne steps closer to him, wearing a gentle, borderline pitying smile, placing her hands on his shoulders and sighing deeply.  
“It’s okay if you don’t have everything figured out yet.” She tilts his chin up. “But you have to know that love-- It is just a starting point, Harry. It’s not everything. It’s a foundation you build on, but it doesn’t make a home.”  
“A home doesn’t stand on it’s own without foundations.” Harry responds, a little defiantly.  
“Oh, absolutely. It’s not everything, but without it, there’s nothing to build something for.”  
Harry nods.  
“Be careful, okay?” Anne says, patting his cheek soothingly.  
“Yeah.” Harry is pouting a little. “We better check on Louis and Gem. I’m scared she’s going to murder him.”  
They’re halfway to Louis’ dressing room when Gemma and Louis literally come hurdling out-- Gemma looking incredibly pissed off, Louis looking tired and frustrated.  
Harry gulps.  
This can’t be good.  
Gemma has her arms crossed as she passes Harry, lips taut even as Anne moves to join her, silent as Harry grabs Louis by the elbow and watches them walk away.  
“Hey, you alright?” He asks, as Gemma and Anne continue down the corridor. “How did it go?”  
“As bad as expected, you know.” Louis tries to smile, but his eyes are sad.  
Harry looks worried, tugging at Louis’ shirt. “Don’t be mad at her, Lou, it’s not her fault.”  
“I’m not mad. I’m not mad.”  
Harry furrows his eyebrows and takes him in his arms, Louis’ chin resting on his collarbone as he wraps his arms around his shoulders, holding him close, feeling Louis’ heartbeat resonate through his chest, warm and loud.  
“I’m mad at myself.” Louis says, in the crook of Harry’s neck.  
And Harry just hugs him tighter for it, closing his eyes tight, brushing his fingertips through the ends of his hair. For a few moments, they stay like that, placid and close, and Louis nudges his nose further against the warmth of Harry’s neck.  
After a while, Louis tilts his chin up. “I think I’m going to sing something I’ve been working on tonight.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah.”  
Harry smiles against Louis’ ear. “Is it about me?”  
“Love, all my songs are about you.”

**

This is the last show they’re doing in London before they slip into touring the rest of the UK, and Louis is oddly nervous. The song is not as ready as it should be, but he really wants to sing it regardless. Harry seems very excited to hear it, and it’s cute.  
The song is for Harry far and foremost, but it’s also for Anne and Gemma. He wants them to know how he feels, wants them to understand that for Louis, Harry is the priority too. That he’s not screwing around with Harry’s heart this time around.  
It may be the only thing he’s sure of right now.  
There was once a time in his life when he would’ve thought-- “Screw it, I don’t need to prove myself to anyone”-- but he knows, deep down, that it would’ve been a lie. Louis has always wanted to be liked-- it’s just something hardwired into his mind, a constant yearning he slips into now and then-- but at least now, he’s not doing this for the wrong reasons.  
For once.  
“London! It’s so good to be home! It’s been awhile since I wooed you lot with a song.” Louis announces.  
The boys laugh, scattered around the ring of the stage, engaging with the crowd, waving and sending air hugs their way, watching the chaos that rings loud and clear in the wake of their actions.  
(Poor fans. Louis is pretty sure that fan Liam blew a kiss to is now deceased.)  
He clambers to the middle stage with trembling breath, guitar strap balanced securely on top of his skinny jeans, a microphone standing millimetres away from his lips.  
“This is ‘I choose you’.”  
Louis takes a deep breath and hope that his voice will stay steady for this; his heart already causing enough chaos as it is, ringing loud and clear, trying to escape his chest like a prisoner fleeing prosecution. The crowd’s cheers give him a boost, causing him to smile sheepishly at the floor, but his heart is soon back to doing some weird thumping thing once he spots Anne and Gemma front row, seemingly enjoying themselves so far.  
Fuck it.

 

Let the bough break, let it come down crashing  
Let the sun fade out to a dark sky  
I can't say I'd even notice it was absent  
Cause I could live by the light in your eyes

Louis’ voice is a little thin, but Niall shushes the crowd with his hands and seems to steady it out a little. Harry smiles at him before turning back to Louis, whose eyes are shut tight, looking lovely illuminated by the stage lights, so small surrounded by all of the dark.

I'll unfold before you  
What I've strung together  
The very first words  
Of a lifelong love letter

Louis opens his eyes and smiles, his voice a lot steadier now.

Tell the world that we finally got it all right  
I choose you  
I will become yours and you will become mine  
I choose you  
I choose you  
(Yeah)

Louis looks at Gemma, who’s listening attentively, eyes intense, a hand on her chin.

There was a time when I would have believed them  
If they told me you could not come true  
Just love's illusion  
But then you found me and everything changed  
And I believe in something again

Louis glances at Harry. Harry smiles, biting his lip.

My whole heart  
Will be yours forever  
This is a beautiful start  
To a lifelong love letter

Tell the world that we finally got it all right  
I choose you  
I will become yours and you will become mine  
I choose you  
I choose you

We are not perfect  
We'll learn from our mistakes  
And as long as it takes  
I will prove my love to you

I am not scared of the elements  
I am under-prepared, but I am willing  
And even better  
I get to be the other half of you

By the end of the song, Anne blows Louis a kiss, smiling and looking -- yeah -- proud. She nudges Gemma. Gemma simply nods, looking a little teary herself too, and mouths “okay” to Louis.  
Harry couldn’t look happier. He looks moved, too, playing with his mic, tripping over himself, not even trying to wash the blush from his cheeks.  
After the show, Gemma approaches Louis.  
“Alright, little shit, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I’ll be watching.”  
“I expect no less.”

**

The next night, Louis is sitting on the porch steps of Harry’s house, leaned against the stairwell outside. He’s enjoying a cold beer in the dark, glancing up at the stars, glinting against the deep purple of the sky like salt scattered over a violet canvas. The trees of Harry’s front garden are occasionally swaying to and fro in the breeze, but it’s not cold. In fact, it’s far from it-- the temperature warm against his skin, each pass the wind makes a blessing against the humid air.  
It’s quiet, and peaceful, and nice--- that is, until a certain Harry Styles sticks his head out of the door.  
“Are your eyes closed?”  
“What?” Louis laughs.  
Harry is being insistent. “Are they closed?”  
“They are now.”  
“No they’re not! You’re going to ruin my surprise!”  
“I promise they’re closed, Haz.” Louis laughs.  
“Okay.” Harry is making noise around him, feet creaking on the wood as he steps beside Louis, a huge, huge gift in his hands, wrapped tight with a gigantic bow and with glitter ethereally spread over it’s surface.  
Louis furrows his eyebrows the second it hits his lap, but he’s still smiling.  
Harry beams. “Okay. Open it.”  
“Alright.” Louis says, smiling big.  
Harry sits next to him on the porch.  
“Ohooo.” Louis opens it unceremoniously, eyebrows raised.  
“You’re so delicate, Lou.” Harry shakes his head, smiling.  
“Well, that’s a drawer.” Louis giggles.  
Harry laughs. “Yes.”  
“You know what? I love this drawer.” Louis gives Harry a kiss-- “But I don’t want it anymore.”  
“What?” Harry looks instantly alarmed, eyes widening.  
“I wanna move in.”  
Harry is stunned into silence.  
“Unless... you think it’s too soon?” Louis looks a little uncertain.  
Harry grabs him by the neck and kisses him. trying to convey whatever he’s feeling in the moment. Relief, joy, happiness, contentment, love.  
Lovelovelove.  
“We’ve lost enough time already.”  
They shift so that Louis sits inbetween Harry’s legs, his back to Harry’s torso, leaning on the porch’s stairwell. Harry hugs him tight from behind, his mouth centimeters from Louis’ ear.  
“You know what, I love sitting here on the porch with you.”  
There’s a beat of silence.  
“I love sitting on this porch with you too.” Louis says, his hands on Harry’s forearms, eyes fluttering shut.  
“I wouldn’t mind doing it everyday. It’s--”  
“Something new.” Louis finishes.  
Louis grabs his beer again and hands it to Harry, who sips from it, Louis carefully tucked between his legs. Louis feels at peace and at ease for the first time in his life. He puts his nose in Harry’s elbow and breathes him in, savouring the moment.  
He considers showing Harry the dagger he got tattooed earlier in the day as a surprise but decides against it, not willing to break the comfortable silence. They have plenty of time.  
They have all the time in the world.

**

“Okay, I think that’s the last one.” Harry says, when the movers hoist the last box onto Harry’s living room floor. “Who knew you had so much crap.”  
“Excuse me, Curly. I have like, two pairs of sweats and a laptop. I travel light compared to you, Mister-Yves-Saint-Laurent-have-to-buy-all-the-pairs-of-boots-available-in-the-collection.”  
“I beg to differ.” Harry says, making a gesture towards the mess that is house right now.  
Boxes and clothing and cds are scattered all over the floor, slivers of Louis’ usual home environment meshed with the neat, scheduled nature of Harry’s-- unbreakable chaos meaning footballs reside next to the sofa, water bottles are leaning against the entourage of candles stacked upon the mantlepiece, and Adidas are buried deep into the Asian rug.  
“Babe, please.” Louis protests. “You have a whole room dedicated to shoes and boots.”  
“Shut up.”  
“Make me.” Louis wiggles his eyebrows.  
Harry raises his own, looks at the fluffy pillow he was carrying in his hands, smirking, and throwing it squarely into Louis’ face. Louis’ mouth becomes an ‘o’ as he lurches forward into Harry, Harry’s giggly attempts of escape silenced when Louis begins to tickle him, reverting them both into a pile of squirming and laughing bodies on the floor. They’re surrounded by so much work, and so much mess-- but it’s all good. They’re laughing uncontrollably as they both try to tickle the other, soft hands batting the others away, cheeks flushed and warm.  
When they finally settle, chests rising and falling at irregular paces, Louis’ fringe dangling down onto Harry’s forehead, Louis says-- “Thanks for making room in your life for me.”  
He kisses Harry’s nose and watches him giggle.  
“You made room into your heart for me, it was the least I could do.”  
Louis smiles at that.  
“In that case, can I put my Vans with your boots?”  
“Never in a million years.”

**

They spent the next two days, unpacking, laughing and bickering over the most trivial things:  
“What do you mean you don’t have anything to put in the kitchen?”/ “Why would you not have a spiderman statue in your doorway, H?” / “I can’t believe you own this many socks, to be honest.”/ “You have a secret ‘sexy drawer’? Where is it? I need to know right this second.” “It wouldn’t be secret if I told you, Lou, now would it?”/ “Your buttons up are organised by color, H. I can’t. No. I’m going back to my place, you’re scaring me.”  
“What are theeeeeeese?” Harry says, unpacking -- yup -- a box of vintage dvd gay porn.  
“Wh--? No, give me that!” Louis scrambles up, trying to reach, but Harry is much taller than him.  
“Who’s Phil Mewizcuck?”  
“Shut up! Give it back! I’m not allowed to know where the “kinky drawer” is so I’m not filling you in on Phil!”  
“Filling m--” Harry cackles so hard that his stomach aches.  
Louis pouts.  
“Tell me. Did you watch this as a teenager? Harry says, nudging Louis in the stomach. “Did you wank watching Phil balls deep in the twink on the cover? He’s hot, I’ll give you that.”  
Louis sticks his tongue out. “I’m not telling you a thing.”  
Louis has his arms crossed, lips pouted as Harry wraps his arms around him and puts his chin on Louis’ shoulder.  
“But, baby, this Phil talk has gotten me a little hot and bothered, you know.”  
Louis smirks. “You’re the one that set that ridiculous ‘no sex till we’re set’ rule.”  
“See? Two days in and you’re already rubbing off on me, I’d rath--”  
“You’d rather rub against me, instead, is that it?” Louis says, clapping his hand on his forehead and shaking his head.  
Harry gives him a cheeky smile. “Loooouis?”  
“Mmmh?”  
“If I make room for your ugly shoes, would you let me eat you out on the kitchen counter top?”  
“Feeling adventurous, Styles?”  
“I want to christen every surface of this house with you.”  
“Mmmm. Let’s see. Unpacking boring shit or having my brains fucked out. Tough choice.”  
Harry smiles. “I bet we can get it all done before going back on tour, even.”  
Louis leans in and whispers in Harry’s ear---“Why don’t you stop talking and put that tongue of yours to better use?”

**

The last thing they do is frame the photograph set and put in on the wall. They stare at it for a long time after.  
“There. All done.”  
“Yeah.” Harry says, nudging his chin into Louis’ neck, holding him close from behind. “Welcome home.”

**

“You know, we have people to do this kind of stuff.”  
“I don’t like it when other people do my grocery shopping for me.”  
“And yet, you’re asking me to.”  
“Well, if you want a home cooked meal, you’re going to have to help a little.”  
“Suit yourself.” Louis scoffs. “Don’t nag me because it’s not the right kind of spice or because the lettuce is not organic, or whatever.”

**

“Honey, I’m hoooome.” It’s later that Louis enters the house again, laughing cheerily at his own pun, hands full of grocery bags.  
“I’ll be right there, I’m finishing up.” Harry’s voice soon sounds from the other side of the house.  
Louis put the groceries in the kitchen and goes searching for Harry. He eventually finds him in the gym room, surrounded by mirrors, and is instantly met with a very perky ass stuck up from across the room, clad tightly in yoga pants.  
“Watcha doing?” Louis asks, leaning on the doorframe.  
“Yoga. What does it look like I’m doing?” Harry answers, face between his own two legs.  
“Teasing. Testing my self control.”  
Harry laughs. “I’ll be finished in five.”  
Louis gets behind Harry, making him feel his growing erection. “Or, you can finish now.”  
Harry bats him off, changing position, determined not to let his yoga get ruined or, rather, continuing to be a fucking tease. He leans up against the mirror with his hands held up, his bum sticking out high, fingers curled across his reflection.  
Louis comes and stands behind him.  
“Lou, we had sex two hours ago…”  
“I'm not doing anything!”  
Harry huffs.  
“It shouldn't distract you if you're as good as yoga as you say you are.”  
“You always distract me, Lou.” Harry is looking at the floor.  
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Louis grins, all playful and challenging.  
He begins to touch Harry from behind, skirting his fingertips up and down his waist for starters. Harry has his head to the floor still, determined to ignore him, grumbling as Louis’ touches start to egress down to his arse. His touches are slow, teasing, enough to make Harry not-so secretly gain an erection in his leggings, showing in the mirror as he not-so secretly tries to hide it.  
“Oh, I see you’re going to make me work for it, aren’t ya?”  
Harry doesn’t answer, simply putting his head to the side, smiling at Louis through the mirror.  
“Those pants you're wearing, fuck.” Louis says, appreciating the view of his hands square on Harry’s arse.  
He starts to reach sideways and palm Harry through his leggings, grinning all the way as Harry juts his bum back, groaning, elbows on the mirror, hands holding his bun. Louis spreads his hands out, over Harry’s arse, squeezing as Harry groans again. It’s a sound that spreads excitement along Louis’ stomach and causes a hum to form in his throat.  
Louis puts his fingers in his mouth, thoroughly wetting them before sliding them down the back of Harry’s leggings, sliding his finger through Harry’s crack.  
“I’ve been thinking about your tight arse the whole day.” Louis says, looking at Harry through the mirror.  
Harry takes a deep breath.  
Soon, Louis’ fingers are going in and out of Harry, the leggings tugged down for better access, Harry breathlessly moaning. “These mirrors are giving me ideas, babe.”  
“Mmmmh.” Harry nods, looking down, lost in his pleasure, his lips opening and shutting.  
And it continues like this until Harry’s legs start to shake, and Louis suspects he’s about to come. He draws away almost instantly, hand in the air, and Harry turns around and kisses him, uninterrupted until Louis presses him up against the mirror, roaming his hand up his shirt, declining Harry’s various attempts at achieving an orgasm by grinding himself up against Louis’ legs. Eventually, he gives up on trying to come, and instead puts his hands on Louis’ neck, kissing him deep, letting out whimpers and gasps at regular intervals.  
He eventually starts touching Louis’ arse through his jeans.  
“Nuh-uh, I haven’t fucked you in days.” Louis says.  
“That’s because your arse is too tempting, babe. Can you really blame me?”  
Louis presses their foreheads together, fringe flopping messily over his face. “I really want to fuck you against this mirror right now.”  
Harry turns around, chest against the mirror, chin in the air, grabs his own two arsecheeks and parts them, showing off his pulsing hole like some kind of reward.  
“Be my guest.” He says.  
Louis gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, Harry on display in front of him, yoga pants on his knees, looking so so inviting.  
Fuck.  
Louis gets rid of his clothes in a hurry. “Don’t move. Don’t-- I want to burn this image into my eyelids. I’m serious. There’s like four of you in the mirrors.”  
Harry smiles, biting his lip, groaning as Louis splatters himself on his back and tugs at his bun. Harry gets the cue almost instantly, releasing his hair, letting it spill over his shoulders and giving something for Louis to run his hands through.  
“I love your hair so much. Never cut it.”  
“Mmmh.” Harry puts his head back on Louis’ collarbone, enjoying the feeling of Louis’ fingertips brushing through his mane, letting his eyes flutter shut.  
“Put your hands on the mirror.”  
Harry quickly complies.  
Louis enters him slowly, spreading his hands out over his arse, jaw shuddering at the explicitness of it, Harry’s face flushed as Louis slowly begins to curve his hips down.  
He puts his hands on Harry’s arse to keep him grounded as he sets a slow pace at first, letting Harry adjust. But soon, he’s pounding into him, the side of Harry’s face pressed flat against the mirror, splaying hot mist along it and clouding their reflections.  
“Are you close, babe?” Louis asks.  
“So so close, Lou.”  
Louis then grabs Harry’s dick and in just a few tugs, Harry comes on the mirror, white strings splayed on it, a kaleidoscope of pleasure surrounding them as he comes down from his high. Louis soon follows at the sight.  
After they’re finished, a tangle of limbs on the yoga mat, Louis squishes Harry’s hair against his cheeks as he kisses him.  
“Best workout ever.”

**

It’s later on. They’re cooking in the kitchen, side by side next to the oven, when the phone rings, cutting through the soft buzz of the radio playing music, cutting through the heat and the peace, making Louis roll his eyes and Harry to shake his head.  
“I’ll get it.” Harry says, and is already out of the room before Louis can even realize the severity of the situation.  
“Hey, don’t leave me alone in the kitchen, Haz!” He protests. “I can’t whisk! How do you whisk?”  
“Just don’t let the sauce become all gooey, I’ll be right back!” Harry calls, answering the phone. “And don’t leave the pan on the fire, the onions will burn!”  
“Onions.” Louis looks completely lost right now. “Riiiight.”  
Bang.  
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Louis shouts.  
“Sam, I’ll call you back.” Harry is putting the phone down and rushing to the kitchen in a hurry almost instantly, becoming white as a sheet at the sight of Louis wincing on the floor.  
He’s surrounded by scattered food on the floor, holding his hand, a pan upside down beside his feet.  
Ohgodohgodohgod---  
Harry is instantly tumbling legs and watering eyes, letting the worry consume him. It must show because Louis immediately says--  
“Don’t panic. I just burned my hand.” He winces. “Told you I’m no Gordon Ramsey.”  
Harry just stares at him.  
“Curly! Hey, don’t freeze on me now! I need you to call for help.”  
Harry is still frozen in place, wide eyed and white. It’s scaring Louis a little bit.  
“Jesus Christ.” Louis tries to get up, the sudden movement shaking Harry out of his trance and over to where Louis is, hands hoisting him up from the floor.  
“Can you remember your name?” Harry stammers. “A-and your date of birth?”  
“I burned my hand and slipped on the floor, Harry, I’m not going to get bloody amnesia!” Louis says, irritated.  
Harry nods, rapidly, eyes watering as he leads Louis to the sofa and shakily reaches for the phone.  
Louis takes it and dials 999.  
“Yes, I’m the one in need of medical assistance. Yeah, I dialled the number. Why, may you ask? Because SOMEBODY couldn’t pick up the balls to save their boyfriend’s life, yeah, see, he left me to fend for myself in the bloody kitchen!”

**

After Louis is sorted, hand neatly wrapped up in gauze, doped on pain killers and so fucking tired, he’s just about ready to settle down for a good night’s sleep. But Harry looks sad and guilty beside him in bed, staring endlessly at Louis’ hand, bottom lip stuck out.  
“M’sorry, Lou.” He says, after a while, moping to himself.  
Louis instantly understands, side hugging him atop the pillows. “Oh god. Don’t get teary on me, okay? I’m fine, look, smiling and everything.”  
“Sorry.”  
“Jesus Christ.” Louis grabs him by the face with his good hand, squishing Harry’s lips in the process. “Don’t beat yourself up. Look at me. Everything is fine. You’re wonderful. Okay?”  
Harry nods, albeit still looking at his lap.  
“You’re just-- useless in a crisis, is all.” Louis laughs.  
Harry attempts a small smile. “You could’ve technically died, Lou.”  
Louis ruffles his hair. “God, shut it, you. One more word out of your scientifically inept mind and I think I’m going to explode.”  
Harry nuzzles his head into Louis’ shoulder. “Don’t explode. I like you whole.”  
Louis looks at his hand. “Yeah. I did, too.”  
Harry laughs.  
Louis looks down at him, now nuzzled snuggly into the crook of Louis’ neck, hair splayed out and warm against his skin. “Does it mean that I’m exempted from cooking ever again?”  
“Not a chance.”

**

“Would you make yourself useful, Lou?”  
“Hey. I’m still very much in pain, I’ll have you know.”  
“If you can play video games, you can set the table.” Harry says from the doorframe of the kitchen, one eyebrow crooked.  
“I am being helpful.” Louis protests. “I’m providing entertainment for the guests. See, I got board games.”  
“We’re not playing stripped Pictionnary, I’m warning you.”  
“Styles, you’re no fun at all.”

**

They invited a few friends to a kind of “housewarming” party: Zayn, Liam, Sam, Niall, Ed and Nick. It’s not everyone they would’ve wanted, but Louis is is not out to a lot of people yet and they figured that a small group of people, what with the house only just settled and everything, would be easier to handle.  
And yeah, it’s pretty nice. Harry cooked. Niall and Sam were in charge of booze. Louis tried to help, but he was making Harry late than anything. In the few moments before the guests arrived, Harry resorted into telling him--- “Okay baby, go sit on the couch and look pretty.”  
Upon arriving, Nick instantly says:-- “Yeahhhh baby! The Tommo is out, woop woop!”-- and does some weird, vaguely lame dancing around him.  
“The drag show is down the street from here, Dick.” Louis deadpans.  
Nick both ignores and hugs him tight. “I’m so happy for you, my littlest shit.”  
Louis can’t help but smile and huff.  
“Really, truly.” Nick grins.  
“Yeah, yeah. Jeez. Stop it.”  
“Soooo? When are you coming out publicly and making an honest woman out of Styles?”  
“Nick, we’re literally still on the doorstep. Stop with the third degree, alright?”  
“Okay.” Nick holds his hands up. “Still so sensitive, Jesus.”

**

They have a nice meal filled with conversation and wine, very grown up like, Harry thinks to himself.  
Afterwards, they bring out the board games. Because apparently, they’re forty-five now.  
“Why do you hate me, Styles?”  
“Stop pouting, Twister is fun.”  
They’re having this conversation while Louis is trying to reach the green spot with one hand (still handicapped with the other), landing his face square on Nick’s butt.  
Yoga boy, very much unlike Louis, is in his element, one leg perfectly stretched across the floor despite the tightness of his jeans, the other balanced and steady beneath his torso. His hair is everywhere. From the other side of the room, Sam is rapidly giggling, snapping pictures since she got out (Niall falling over and, in the process, dragging her down with him). Liam is struggling beside Harry, hands crossed from underneath his legs, but somehow hanging in there.  
“Did you just fart in my face, Dick!?” Louis suddenly complains.  
Nick lets out a long, grinning sigh. “I feel so much better now. It’s a dream come true.”  
Louis stumbles back, losing the game in the process. Everybody goes crazy laughing.  
“Stop making me laugh! I’m gonna lose!” Liam shouts/giggles, indeed in an awkward position as he tries to reach a yellow spot, somehow, with his legs spread across the board.  
Louis dusts himself down. “I’m going to hang out with the grown ups now, thank you very much!”  
**

Ed is smoking pot on the porch with Zayn and Niall, the air calm and warm, the stars obscured by the thick cloud cover. As Louis joins them, they turn and look at him, wide smiles blazing beneath all of the dark.  
Louis makes a face halfway between bewilderment and joy. “Guys, are you baked already?”  
“Booooooooo. C’mere.” Ed says, snuggling Louis.  
Zayn and Niall huff.  
“You look so happy, I’m so happy!” Ed cooes, all teddy bear like, Louis splattered on his lap.  
Louis snorts. “Alright, enough pot for you.”  
Ed squishes his cheek against Louis’. “I wanna talk about Harry, tell me me everything.”  
Zayn is giggling. “This is going to be fun.” Niall shakes his head.  
“You’re so embarrassing, Sheeran.” Louis looks between them. “We Donny men don’t gush about feelings.”  
“Feelings?” Zayn mimics Louis’ expression exaggeratedly.  
“Ah, give it up Lou. You’re a pug. All tough on the outside and mushy on the inside.” Niall says.  
Zayn giggles at the word ‘mushy’ uncontrollably while Louis shifts at the sudden scrutiny. “Ummm, I’m good. We’re good. Yeah, it’s, ummm, yeah.”  
Ed pouts. “Come on, tell me about your Curly little cupcake.”  
“He’s wonderful. There. That’s all I’m gonna say.”  
“Don’t put that in your wedding vows.” Ed mocks.  
“We can’t all be poets like you, my friend.”  
“Yeah? Well, after hearing your songs, I beg to differ.” Niall interjects.  
Louis sticks his tongue out.  
“Seeing your ink, I beg to differ.” Zayn adds. “That’s some intense shit right there. It’s like a permanent love declaration written in your skin. It can’t get any deeper than that. Li and I, we’ve been together longer than you and we’ve never done that.”  
“Are you planning on coming out-- publicly I mean-- at some point, or…? Ed asks Zayn, genuinely curious.  
Zayn sighs. “I don’t know, man. We’ve talked about it. But we’re happy like this. Like, really really happy. We don’t want to jeopardize everything by being under the scrutiny of every media outlet out there. I don’t think it’s in the cards, right now at least, plus we like flying under the radar. We’re not that obvious, unlike some people... ”  
Louis ignores him.  
“What about you, Boo?” Ed asks.  
“Same.”  
“You’re kidding, right?” Niall interjects, looking baffled.  
“Wh--?”  
“You know Harry, mate. Now that he has you, there’s no way he’s going to want to stay closeted.” Zayn says and Niall looks like he agrees.  
“Bu--”  
“Louis, listen.” Zayn shakes his head. “Harry and you, it’s not the same story as Li and I. He waited so long… and if it wasn’t for you I’m sure he’d be out already.”  
Louis looks puzzled.  
“I don’t know about that, but we’re talking about the guy who shouted he loved you out of the top of his lungs on a balcony in Paris the minute he thought it was right to.” Niall says.  
Louis is wide eyed at the memory.  
“Look I’m not trying to put pressure on you. I’m just warning you, I guess.” Zayn says, a little hesitant.  
“Ed, what do you think?”  
Ed scratches the back of his neck. “Ehhhh, I don’t know mate. I guess he’d want some kind of statement at some point-- from you?”  
“If he needs me to prove my love for him then--”  
“I don’t think it’s a stretch to think that he would, after everything.” Niall says.  
“You’re wrong.” Louis shakes his head. “Harry is not like that. He’s a very confident guy.”  
“Yeah he’s confident, except when it comes to you.” Niall says. “Look. Zayn is right. I’m not saying it’s going to be now. I’m saying it’s coming.”  
“ You should be prepared for it, because I know you. You hate surprises.” Zayn adds.  
Ed nods in agreement.  
“And when the time comes, I don’t want you to screw it all up by saying the wrong thing because you didn’t have time to process it.” Zayn says.  
Louis looks very sad all of a sudden. “You know I love him, don’t you?”  
Zayn smiles, his eyes are kind. “I know you do. I knew it before you did.”  
Ed gently rubs Louis’ back. Niall nods his agreement.

**

The rest of the night is fun, extraordinarily so, with the majority of it spent singing drunken karaoke, the highlights of which:---Sam drunkenly stumbling atop the dining table with an unlit candle as a mic to sing “Wrecking Ball”, Niall playing Louis’ guitar on the flat side, Harry and Louis swaying in the corner even with the horrendous music being played, Nick sticking a play dough penis onto one of Harry’s decorative figurines, and Liam and Zayn becoming Sam’s very giggly front row fans.  
And yeah, it’s pretty fucking weird.  
But it’s nice.  
Ever since his conversation with Zayn and Ed, Louis has been a little quieter than usual. It’s nagging at the back of his mind, enveloping it whole, distracting him. Even though he’s been as close as possible to Harry all night, taking him in his arms, tugging on his sleeves, kissing him at every chance he gets, it’s like he can’t fully enjoy it.  
He doesn’t like it one bit.  
But, regardless, Harry doesn’t seem to mind or notice; secretly loving the attention, casting out content humms and smiles everytime Louis comes his way.  
“We’ve been invited to Niall’s brother’s wedding, did you see?” He asks, when Louis is being especially lovely, bumping their shoulders together during Sam’s extremely drunken table ballad. He tries to act casual when he says it, but really, his heart’s thumping like the front row of a marching band.  
“I came in like a wrecking baaaaaaaaawwwwwlll-” Sam belts.  
Well, he knows it would be, if he could fucking hear it.  
Harry winces at Sam’s voice. She’s wiggling around on the table, reaching for the ceiling. Harry hopes to God that she isn’t planning on swinging on the chandelier anytime soon.  
“Don’t quit your day job, Sammy!” Louis shouts, and Niall shushes him.  
Harry laughs.  
“Yeah I saw.” Louis turns back to Harry, bumping their shoulders together once more, returning to the conversation at hand. “One invitation. With both our names.”  
“Yeah.” Harry raises his eyebrows appreciatively, dimples in display. “I have to admit, my heart skipped a beat when I saw that.”  
“You’re such a sap, baby.” Louis kisses his cheek.

**

A few days later, they’re in Ireland. Niall is super hyped to be there-- coating every passing moment with a mantra of “Baby, I’m hoooome!”, kissing the stadium floor (“I’ll never leave you again”), twirling around the cleaning ladies and camera staff at every chance he gets. It’s so nice to see, especially considering the long periods of time they stay away from home for.  
Sam, personally, finds him hilarious. He’s geared out on all things Irish, from shirt to shoes, in celebration of his homecoming. Even Sam, who is mocking at best towards Niall’s extreme patriotism, humoured him by wearing her “Niall customized Vans” that Harry and Louis got her for her birthday, and her infamous “Irish I were drunk shirt”.  
Harry’s been observing them from afar. So happy, so giggly, so in love. So demonstrative. So unashamed. So so made for each other. In front of their whole team, who don’t even bat an eye.  
He sighs before getting on Louis’ lap, who was busy on his phone beside him.  
“Woooh, careful there Curly.” Louis can’t help but tense up and look around to see who’s there.  
They’re not in the privacy of their dressing rooms. There are like a gazillion people there right now, backstage, whizzing between arena and prep rooms and engineering. Not just their friends. It makes Louis a little uneasy. He can’t help seeing the tour manager and their prep team side eying them.  
Or is he imagining things?  
Louis doesn’t know right now. He just knows that it’s a struggle for him to act normal (meaning couply) towards Harry. But he really really doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea either.  
“Is there something wrong?” Harry asks, puzzled, sensing the tension Louis’ trying to hide.  
“No. No everything is perfectly fine.” Louis answers in a small voice, running his hand in Harry’s curls nonetheless.  
“You don’t mind the...” Harry says, incredulous, makes a gesture indicating them.  
“Well you know me, I’m not much one for PDA.” Louis laughs nervously.  
Harry looks suspicious. Wasn’t Louis the very demonstrative one in front of their friends just a few days ago?  
“Hey. Don’t frown. I love you, okay. It’s just ...a lot all at once.” Louis looks sincere.

**

A few days later and they’re at Greg’s wedding reception-- or, rather, the afterparty shadowing it. The huge, golden laced tent they’re in is absolutely gorgeous-- parked in the back garden of Niall’s family home, pure white in colour, and coming to a peak just adjacent to the second floor of the house beside it. It’s huge, too-- lined with dining tables and chairs, with a silk-strewn rug laid over the tent flooring below as a mock-dance floor, a glitterball dangling from up above and a live band stoked up in the corner.  
They’re all dressed up, but, of course, Sam looks absolutely gorgeous-- dark messy hair tamed in an enchantingly-stacked bun, the pale pink of her dress reflecting the shimmery ambience of the tent lights rose against her skin, green eyes standing out behind the faint bronze that illuminates them. Niall has been tailing her all night, complimenting her looks, singing various love songs her way-- most noticeable out of these is “The Way You Look Tonight”--- much to the chagrin of her siblings. They, too, follow her around like ducks trotting across a road, spruced up in cute little matching outfits, mumbling sparse ‘hellos’ to the other guests and acting absolutely bewildered at the strong nature of Niall’s family’s accents.  
But they begin to come out of their shell, or a little, at least, once they find Louis. Sam eventually has to go somewhere they can’t follow-- a.k.a the toilet-- which leaves them in Louis’ most responsible care for a few minutes, in which they spent playing tig underneath delicately-coated tables and laughing at the wide variation in faces Louis can pull.  
Once Sam comes back, taking the kids with her to talk to Niall’s family, Louis finds himself at a table with Harry. Harry, Louis must admit, looks absolutely stunning tonight-- thick chestnut curls gently strewn over either shoulder, pale, pale green eyes brought out by the faint candlelight of each table, making his skin appear paler and his eyelashes tinted darker. The suit that he’s wearing, by definition, of course, of the person wearing it, is most explicitly designer-- front buttons purposely parted to show the white shirt underneath, the watery silk exposing the tattoos residing on his biceps.  
It amazes Louis, even to this day, how Harry can look so incredibly predatory and superior at first glance. It’s a facade that only the newspapers and tabloids see as his only layer; a device management uses to squeeze every ounce of the ‘womanizer-bad-boy’ that they know sells, something that the general public uses to categorize Harry in a box. And yeah, for Louis, it’s pretty frustrating, because all it takes is five minutes in Harry’s company to see that layer washed away-- to see his goofy little smile to come out, to hear one of his cheesy jokes or to see him bump into a table or chair or step and apologize without fail--- and for the real Harry to come through.  
But it doesn’t mean that Louis doesn’t appreciate the Harry he sees at first glance, though-- this jaded, empowering man, with that strong jawline and eyes so powerful it feels like they could shatter diamond. It doesn’t strip away the undeniable attractiveness of his image, the way he intensifies every square metre of space around him.  
And yeah. It’s pretty mouthwatering.  
That’s not to say that Louis doesn’t look good tonight, too. And by good, he means-- a plain black suit, hair strewn back, and matching socks. By good, he means Harry-Styles-can’t-take-his-eyes-off-him good. And to him, that feels like a job pretty well fucking done.  
“I have to say, you clean up nice, Styles.” He eventually says, appreciative.  
Harry beams. “You’re don’t look so bad yourself.”  
Louis simply grins.  
Soon, it’s time for the bouquet to be tossed. Harry is watching the dance floor clear out, mesmerized by the chaos reigning supreme between the ladies swishing around-- dresses twirling as they fight for front row, gossip and giggling loud in the air. Sam, amongst the chaos, is stubbornly refusing to go.  
Louis thinks, albeit in the moment, that he really loves this boy, looking so manly and like a child at the same time beside him. It makes him a little dary, to say the least. Who knew a wedding could bring out that side of him?  
“Hey. Why don’t you try and grab it?” He grins, indicating the bouquet.  
“Get out of here.” Harry answers, sheepishly.  
“Suit yourself.” Louis shrugs and winks at him, a big smile spattered on his face.  
“Are you--?” Harry squints at him. “Stop teasing. You know I don’t deal well with these kinds of things.”  
“Who says I’m teasing you?”  
Harry can’t get a good read on him. He doesn’t know if Louis is being serious or not.  
“You’re being cruel.” Harry nudges him with his shoulder, eyes drifting towards the dancefloor. They’re next to each other, facing the same direction.  
“I know commitment talk gets you hard.” Louis huffs.  
They get interrupted by Scarlett, Seb and Sam. Scarlett tugs on Harry’s sleeve rather urgently.  
“Uncle Harry, I’ve got to talk to you. It’s very important.” She places a bear square in Harry’s lap. “Remember my bear?”  
“Yeah. Of course I do.” Harry smiles. “Nice to see you again Bear. Bear, meet Boo.”  
Louis extends his hand very seriously and shakes Bear’s hand.  
“It’s just a plushie, it can’t answer you, you know.” Seb warns Harry.  
Scarlett blinks up at him, incredibly serious. “Uncle Harry, I don’t need Bear anymore, so I want to give it to you.”  
“Awww, Scar! Is it because of Harry’s story? You don’t need to, hun. He found his Bear again.” Sam says looking fond.  
Louis looks confused.  
“No, I’m a big girl now. I don’t need to sleep with a stuffed bear anymore.” Scarlett scowls at Sam.  
“Okay, you’re a grown woman who don’t need no Bear, got it.” Sam says in a defense posture, her hands up.  
“Well, thank you Scarlett.” Harry smiles. “It’s a very nice gift, I’ll take good care of it. But if you change your mind, just say so, okay?”  
Scarlett nods and then she’s gone, Sam at her heels shaking her head fondly.  
“What was that about?” Louis asks, once they’re out of earshot.  
“Scarlett offered me her Bear.” Harry looks down at it, securely in his lap.  
“Thanks, Curly.” Louis rolls his eyes.  
“And now, I’m giving it to you.” Harry says, seriously, holding it out.  
Louis takes it, looking suspicious. “You, too, are a grown woman who don’t need no bear?”  
“I already got my Boo.” Harry kisses Louis on the cheek.  
Seb is still hovering besides them looking intently at Greg and Niall.  
“What is it, Sebastian?” Louis asks.  
“I think Uncle Niall might not be a natural blond.” Seb scowls, eyes squinted.  
Louis grins. “You’re right, my little sassy friend. Niall’s carpet doesn’t match the drapes.”  
Harry nudges him in the ribs.  
“The what now?” Seb asks.  
Louis laughs. “It just means that you’re right, Seb.”  
“I knew it!’ Seb says.  
Louis holds his hand out for a fistbump and Seb gives him it, very assured and happy that he is no longer alone in the Niall conspiracy club.

**

“Come and dance with me.”  
“We can’t dance.” Louis protests. “You’ll probably send me to the hospital walking all over my tiny feet with your giant ones.”  
Harry pouts.  
“Please, I love this one.”  
“I can’t dance to an Ed song.” Louis sips on his champagne. “It goes against all of my principles.”  
They look at the crowd for a bit, Harry moving his head quietly to the beat and Louis drinking, the bear securely rested beside them.  
The song changes after a while, and the rhythm is soon to pick up. Louis is on his feet in seconds, putting the cup down, tugging on Harry’s sleeves and leading them onto the dancefloor.  
“This one I can dance to!” (It’s “Next to you” by Chris Brown and Justin Bieber.)

One day when the sky is falling,  
I'll be standing right next to you,  
Right next to you.

They’re a mess of twirling and fonding and feet for a long while, Louis cackling at Harry’s apparent clumsiness, Harry snorting at Louis’ both trying to lipsync and to mock the DJ lamely prodding at the turntables at the front of the tent. They’re split apart only momentarily when Scarlett decides to join, dancing on Louis’ feet and smiling when Seb tails along to perform silly dance moves with Harry, but are soon reunited with the rest of the band and Sam, a huge joyful huddle of idiots, laughing and mocking the night away.  
In that moment, they feel infinite. The world stops turning for a little while.

Nothing will ever come between us,  
'Cause I'll be standing right next to you,  
Right next to you.

 

**

On the day of the second show in Dublin, Louis receives an unexpected call from no other than… Simon Cowell.  
Simon Fucking Cowell.  
Louis is nervous when he sees the caller ID in his shared hotel room with Harry (they do that now). In the background, Harry is singing (“I’m On Top Of The World” by Imagine Dragons) from within the shower, and his voice is cutting through the wall, muffled only by the ringing heartbeat in Louis’ ears. What could this be about?  
Frankly, Louis is a little scared that it’s about his relationship with Harry. He contemplates letting it go to voicemail. He would have a few months ago, if he’s being honest with himself.  
Fuck.  
Not anymore, though.  
Get it together, Tomlinson.  
“Hello?” Louis says, attempting to sound casual despite his stammering heart.  
“Louis.” Simon’s tone sounds syrupy, and Louis hates it instantly. “How are you? I heard that you’re good.”  
“I’m peachy, Simon, thank you.” Louis says, in a clipped tone. “I heard that things are good on the X-factor front.”  
“Yeah about that. I’d like to ask you to do something --and really it would mean a lot to me if you agreed-- ” Simon nervously laughed, and it instantly pisses Louis off a lot more than it should.  
“What is it about, Simon?” He clips, inpatient.  
“How would you like to be a guest judge on the X factor?”  
Louis is instantly stunned.  
This is not what he thought that conversation was about.  
“Ummm, really? Me?”  
“Yeah you! You’re like a natural choice if I’m honest. All that talent and that wit of yours. It was bound to happen.”  
“Oh? I don’t know… I’d have to check, you know, the schedule is crazy right now with the tour and all…”  
Louis can almost hear Simon smile through the phone.  
“I cleared it with your manager already, of course.”

**

Harry comes out of the bathroom soon after, whistling and beautiful, the crappy hotel lighting casting his pebbled moisture back a glistening amber. He’s got a tiny white towel wrapped around his hips, and is doing a silly exaggerative walk as he dries his hair with another, vigorous movements causing stray curls to drip and dangle over his face. It’s all very dandy and everything, but he soon stops dead in his tracks once he sees Louis, looking incredibly small and lost on the edge of the bed. His hands are clutching the duvet between his legs, his head is down, and all at once, anxiety washes across Harry’s chest like a cold weather front.  
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”  
“Ummm…” Louis makes a face. “Simon called.”  
“Oh?” Harry tries for casual, but he’s very worried all of a sudden, a cold feeling settling in his ribcage and causing his entire chest to be doused in ice.  
Louis stares at his feet. “He wants me to be a guest judge on the X factor. Can you believe it?”  
Harry looks at him. “Of course I can.”  
Louis makes another face. “I don’t know. I mean, out of the five of us, I’m by far the weakest singer.”  
Harry looks appalled, long strides quickly taking him over to the bed, limbering legs sliding next to Louis and soft fingertips nudging him in the ribs. “Hey. It’s my boyfriend you’re insulting.”  
“I’m serious H. I don’t-- I’m not sure I’m the right choice for this.” Louis looks incredibly vulnerable; eyes casted downwards, lips parted as he stares down at his lap.  
Extremely lost, all of a sudden.  
Harry takes his chin and lifts it up. “Of course you are. You’re quick on your feet, you’re a good judge of character --well most of the time-- and you’re funny and sassy. Perfect for the job, really.”  
Louis doesn’t seem convinced yet.  
“Plus you’re not bad on the eyes. You know.” Harry tries for light and funny, but Louis is still sour. “Unless you don’t want to do it?”  
“No. I-- I really want to. I mean, being able to give this opportunity to people just like it was given to us four years ago? I mean, it’s really humbling and I would be a fool to refuse. Plus, it’s like, coming full circle, isn’t it?” Louis lights up a little at that.  
“Yeah.” Harry nods.  
“But I’d have to be away for this next week, instead of being home with you, like we planned. And be around Simon for at least three days.” Louis sombers again.  
“Did he-- Did he mention us?” Harry looks hesitant.  
“No. But I’m sure he heard. How could he not?” Louis looks up. “Harry, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to face him on my own…”  
“Hey!” Harry grabs him by the shoulders. “You are. I love you. I trust you and I believe in you, okay?”  
“Okay.” Louis agrees.  
He’d sure like to feel as confident as Harry right now. He feels jittery as Harry takes him in his arms, warm and gentle and close, laying them both down in the process, but it loosens after a few moments of time pass, and he lets his shoulders sink, no longer taut from the stress. Harry nuzzles his nose into Louis’ collarbone and for a few moments they know nothing else. It’s quiet, except from the dull lull of the television next door, the mild traffic blazing outside, and the loud thump of their hearts, cutting through the lazy whirr of the ceiling fan, cutting through the tranquillity, tearing Louis’ fright to shreds and allowing him to sink into it.  
Sink into this. Sink into this feeling.  
Safe.  
“What are you going to say if he mentions us?” Harry finally asks, mouth on Louis collarbone.  
“I don’t know.”  
“You’re not going to deny it, are you?” Harry lifts his head up, suddenly a mixture of curious and afraid, pale eyes almost hazel in the tinny yellow lighting, eyelashes ablaze with copper.  
“No! Why would you think that?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m scared that some habits die hard, I guess.”  
Louis looks hurt, but doesn’t comment. He simply tucks Harry’s head back on his collarbone once again, stares out across the window, and lets out a sigh-- Harry’s eyes fluttering shut at the movement. It’s not soon before Louis is shuffling closer, so that his chin rests just on top of Harry’s hair, and so his arm can hold him tight.  
“ I swear, I will never deny you ever again.” He says, resolute, into the mass of curls.  
Louis may be uncertain about a lot of things, but this he can say without a shadow of a doubt.

**

It’s a few days later. Louis is set on his way to France for the X-factor, having taken the plane a few minutes before, and now, Harry and Liam are waiting for their own plane to arrive to take them home. The VIP section of the airport is rather exhausting to look at, a cocktail of golds and greens and browns and reds, and Harry hates it. It tries way too hard to be chic, the lights flicker up above, and the smell the coffee machine is emanating just about now is making Harry feel sick.  
Or maybe it’s just the nervousness he’s feeling.  
“And you told him to go?” Liam rests his feet up on one of the spiral-plaid seats, continuing the conversation at hand.  
“Yeah.” Harry says, confidently, watching the people buzz past the one-way windows.  
“Oh Haz…” Liam looks pitiful. “He’s not ready for that.”  
“Come on, Li! Give him some credit.”  
“Harry, it’s not about that and you know it. The last time Simon cornered him, he got a beard! Plus, you know, Simon forces people to see things his way. It’s what he does best.”  
“I believe in him. I’m sorry that you don’t.”  
“H. God. You’re so stubborn sometimes.” Liam shakes his head. “You gotta learn when to stop pushing. These things take time and you keep trying to take shortcuts. It’s gonna blow up in your face and I’m saying this with your best interests at heart.”  
“I appreciate that, I really do, but I think he’s doing better that you give him credit for.”  
“Suit yourself.”

 

**

It’s the first night of Louis’ little trip alone in France and he’s already lonely, having played with everything in his hotel room twice, having stared out of the window for way too long, being bored beyond belief and aching for something to do. Harry isn’t answering his texts, but he decides to revive the one-sided conversation regardless, slumped up in bed despite the early hour.

8:53  
Fuck, I miss you, Harold :-(

8:53  
Where are you?

8:54  
I’m not used to sleeping alone anymore, you know.

8:54  
This hotel room is really, really fucking creepy. 100% sure that the lightbulb just moved rn

8:55  
Damn you. r you asleep already, you healthy lifestyle manic, you?

8:55  
Cuuuuurrrrrlllllyyyyyyyy.

8:56  
Oi. Styles.

8:56  
Did I mention I’m not used to sleeping alone anymore? This bed is way too big. I think even you’d swim in it.

8:56  
now I’m imagining you with tiny scuba gear on. Fuck.

8:57  
Are you ignoring me?

8:58  
:(

8:58  
Too bad...

8:58  
I had a nice surprise left for you in the nightstand...

**

Harry is, in fact, busy, his phone on mute under the table, in the midst of having drinks with Nick, the humid London air sticking his hair to the back of his neck. The bar is quite crowded for the time of night; the buzz only punctuated by calls for more shots, rowdy groups of guys slapping money down on the bar, and the drunken karaoke session going on in the corner. But nobody has noticed them as of yet, and it’s nice.  
Quite nice.  
Nick takes a slurp of his beer. “I can’t wait to watch the Tommo on the X-factor. He’s going to be in his element. I would kill to be on that show, to be honest.”  
“Yeah?” Harry laughs and nods. “You certainly have the wit for it. But I don’t know about your ability to judge singing performances, Nick.”  
“Hey, fuck you, I’m a fan of your little band of buggers, aren’t I? See? I have good taste.”  
Harry blinks at him. “Seeing your shirt, I really question that.”  
“Hey!” Nick sticks his lips out, offended. “I designed this shirt, I’ll have you know.”  
“Oh I have no doubts about that. A black shirt with white stains. Really subtle.”  
“You spend too much time with Louis! I can’t handle this level of sassiness from the both of you! Next thing I know you’ll be ganging up on me.” Nick shakes his head “I need to find a fine man who will defend my honour, fuck.”  
Harry laughs. “Yes. You need one of those. It’s really nice, you’ll see.”  
Nick looks fond. “What if I meet him and I’m too dumb to recognise the love of my life right away?”  
“I can’t help you with that.” Harry rests his chin on his hands. “I knew the first time I laid eyes on him. You should really talk to Louis about this. I’m not really good at any of this, but I know Louis took his sweet time.”  
“It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”  
Harry looks sheepish. “Yeah. I think I deserve a bit of happiness, don’t you?”  
“Of course. Although it was really weird seeing you all domesticated and shit. It suits you. What about Louis? How is living together working for him?”  
“I’m taking good care of him. He’s happy.”  
“I’m sure he is. God, you sicken me, the both of you. You look like you’re about to adopt a puppy, or a kid, or both. I’m warning you if you get married, I call dibs on being the flower girl. Lux can suck it.”  
Harry cackles. “We’re not there yet. For that we’d have to be out…”  
“Can you imagine? It would break the internet. You would make the headlines for weeks.” Nick looks amazed. “But seriously. Imagine what a difference it would make for confused kids out there. Imagine what a role model you could both be. Especially Lou. My god… His story, so many kids would relate...”  
“I know. I’m seriously thinking about it.”  
“Yeah? What does he say about it?”  
“I don’t know yet. But I’m planning on finding out soon.”

**

When Harry gets back home, there’s at least twenty texts from Louis on his phone. He files through them all with a smile before going to the nightstand, curiosity lacing his movements as he pulls out the drawer.  
Funnily enough, there’s a electronic pink dildo in there. Post-it note smiley face included.

**

Louis is dragged from sleep when he hears his phone beginning to vibrate against the hotel table, groggy eyes and groans leading him to the disturbance. It’s dark outside now, the streets lined with bright lights and the only sounds from cars passing from below, late night stragglers kicking cans along the pavement, and the odd squawking from birds up above. He sleepily drags the duvet along with him as he gets out of bed, feet trudging along the floor, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the light.  
It’s Harry. Louis prods the answer button with a limp, grumpy finger, and gets back into bed. For a few seconds, there’s no sound at all on the other side, and Louis thinks it’s an accidental call. But then, he hears something impossible not to pinpoint as panting from the speaker, and stops dead in his tracks.  
“Hello?” Louis tries, squinting.  
More panting. A ghost of a whimper sounds, slightly muffled, and Louis is instantly waken up, brain shifting to life, heat beginning to rise in his crotch.  
Suddenly, his pants feel a lot tighter than they used to be.  
“What’s that sound, Curly?” He stammers. “Is it-- Is it my gift?”  
There’s more panting on the other side of the line, followed by the unmistakable noise of someone moaning. Louis tugs on his pants, already knowing where this is going.  
“Babe?” He tries, again, throat becoming tight. “Are you there?”  
“Hey.” It’s then that Harry first speaks, tone slowly fading from a gasp. “S’really nice, Lou.”  
“The gift?” Louis grins, impatient. “Are you talking about my gift?”  
“Mmmh.”  
“Do you like it?”  
“I really...really….Hmmh…”  
“I’m going to take that as a yes.”  
“Hmmhm.” Harry whimpers. “What...What are you wearing, Lou?”  
Louis puts his hand on his chin, resting his phone on his belly on loudspeaker, before sliding his other hand down his pants. “What am I wearing, right now, eh? Pants, I suppose. A top, too. Why, what are you wearing?”  
Harry groans. “Nothing.”  
He may as well have fucking ordered an erection to arrive at Louis’ door.  
“What top is it?” Harry says, obviously doing something else in the background, oblivious...or not… to Louis’ distress.  
“Hmm.” Louis begins to tug at himself. “You know that Packers one that used to be yours? The green one?”  
“The one you hate.” Harry hums.  
“Yeah. That one.” Louis grins to himself. “Wearing it for you, baby.”  
“Oh God.” Harry moans. “The oversized one?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Does it...Does it reach over your cock?”  
“Maybe.” Louis begins to tug a little faster. “Why, are you imagining it doing so?”  
“Maybe.” Harry whimpers. “Or maybe I’m just imagining you inside of me right about now.”  
“Fuck.” Louis pants.  
“Yeah.” Harry grunts, tone laboured. “Fuck.”  
“What are you doing right now?” Louis tips his head back. “Fucking yourself, you dirty boy?”  
“Not yet.” Harry whimpers, and Louis feels his stomach whirr almost instantaneously. “Right now.. Mmmmhh… Oh God. Rimming.”  
“Fucking Hell, Haz.” Louis moans as he closes his eyes shut. “Describe it to me.”  
“Right now, s’only just vibrating...Moving around, the tip barely going in…”  
“Oh God. Oh God.”  
“My fingers might be wet around my dick. Might be.”  
Louis lets out a whimper at that, a real whimper, and slaps his hand hard over his mouth in embarrassment.  
“Did you...Did you just slap your ass?” Harry hums, evidently amused at this.  
“God, no, I was just---”  
“M’imagining that you did.” Harry continues.  
Louis doesn’t know whether to come or laugh. He chooses the latter, but is quickly shut up.  
“M’thinking of your arse right now.”  
Louis is speechless, throat tight as Harry moans, continuing his little story.  
“So round. So soft. So...tight.”  
“Not as tight as yours.” Louis blurts.  
“Heh.” Harry groans loudly. “Yeah.”  
“Tell me. Tell me more.” Louis slows his pace. “Is yours tight right now, baby? Is it tight?”  
“Yeah. Oh God, yeah.”  
“How tight? How much can you feel of that dildo now?”  
“A lot. M’pushing it in a little. It’s good. Feels good.”  
“Fuck.” Louis ups his hips without meaning to just thinking of it, head rolling to the side. “Haz, I think I might end up coming over the hotel sheets any minute at the rate this is going at. It’s not good.”  
Harry’s chuckle is barely audible through the speaker. “Restrain yourself, then.”  
Louis grits his teeth.  
If only it was that fucking easy.  
“Kay. I’m trying. It’s just-- This is so fucking hot, Haz.” Louis is tightening his grip at the base of his cock to keep himself in check, and taking deep breaths.  
“You think it’s hot, Lou? What if I told you that I’m pinching my nipple right now, imagining you’re doing it?”  
Louis lets a little whimper escape him.  
“Give me a sec, I want to be naked too.” Louis hurries to get rid of his shirt. “Now where were we?”  
“I don’t know about you, but I’m touching myself.”  
“Uhuuu, Uhuuu. Me too. Me too.” Louis says biting his lip.  
“Would you touch your balls for me, love?” Harry asks softly.  
“Yeah. Mmmm, Yeah, doing it now.” Louis closes his eyes. “Where are you at, babe? Is it in yet?”  
“Almost… God Lou, it’s mmmmh--”  
“Oh God. Say it again.”  
“Say what?”  
“My name. Say my name, please.”  
“Lou. Lou, Ohhh, it’s in, Lou.”  
“God, I wish I could see you now.”  
“You’d love it, Lou. I’m flushed and my hair is everywhere, just how you like it.”  
“I’m hard as a rock, Haz, just thinking about it.”  
“I want-- I want--”  
“What do you want, babe?” Louis says panting.  
“I want your cock Lou. So big and thick. I’m--”  
“Oh God. I want your tight arse so fucking bad right now.”  
“I need your cock.”  
“I want to suck marks all over your neck, baby.”  
“I’m almost there, Lou.”  
“Me too.”  
“It feels so fucking good.”  
“If I was there I’d bite your arse cheek just like when I saw your tight little hole for the first time. I couldn’t help myself, I swear, it was too tempting.”  
And that does it. Harry is coming all over his hand.  
And Louis soon follows.  
When they’re down from their high, both pliant and fucked out and filthy with come, Louis says--  
“Hey, can I tell you a secret?”  
“Sure.”  
“Last year, when things were urghh between us, you were back at your mum’s and I was in Doncaster, I called you. I’m pretty sure you meant to ignore my call but you answered.”  
“And?”  
“I was about to hang up but I heard you, ummm, moan.” Louis chuckles.  
“Nooooo!”  
“Yes. I love that sound… You know? The one you make when you’re ummm, aroused.”  
“Shut up, I’m so embarrassed.”  
“Don’t be. It was amazing. You said my name even.” Louis is proud.  
“Nooooooo, oh my god.”  
“I wanked at the sound of your moans and it was so so so hot, Haz, you have no idea.” Louis reminisces, smiling until his eyes crinkle.  
“Fucking hell.”  
“But this was hotter.”

**

The next morning, Louis feels refreshed after a good night’s sleep and a nice round of phone sex with his boy. Hell, he feels like a million pounds even during prep and briefing and endless platitudes with Simon. In fact, the feeling’s so strong he can specifically pinpoint the exact moment he doesn’t feel like it anymore.  
It’s within the vast landscape of Simon’s house in France, seeing the third Judge’s House contestant. It’s moments after the last contestant has excitedly shuttled off camera that a tall, lanky boy takes their place, microphone pressed squarely against his lip. He’s fairly cute-- a strong, pale complexion giving way to a thick head of hazelnut hair, brown eyes hidden haphazardly behind a lilting pair of glasses.  
“Hello, Adam.” Simon says, addressing him calmly, a coffee cup in one hand over the table.  
“Hi! Big fan!” Adam says, turning to Louis, giddiness leaking from his every word.  
“Hi!” Louis smiles at him. “Big fan as well. How is it going so far? What has the reaction been like?”  
“Well, I have to say, it’s been far better than I expected, being out and proud and all that.”  
Simon makes a gestures towards the director, cutting the conversation short, and suddenly, the room feels incredibly cold.  
Fucker.  
“Good for you.” Louis says, surprised at Adam’s statement but trying not to act pissed at Simon’s reaction at the same time.  
Simon moves the topic swiftly on. “What are you going to sing today, Adam?”  
Adam seems undisturbed by the change in mood. “It’s a special song, an empowering one. It means a lot to me.”

Nothing's gonna hurt you the way that words do  
When they settle 'neath your skin  
Kept on the inside and no sunlight  
Sometimes a shadow wins  
But I wonder what would happen if you

Say what you wanna say  
And let the words fall out  
Honestly I wanna see you be brave  
With what you want to say  
And let the words fall out  
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

Everybody's been there,  
Everybody's been stared down by the enemy  
Fallen for the fear  
And done some disappearing,  
Bow down to the mighty  
Don't run, just stop holding your tongue

Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live  
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in  
Show me how big your brave is

And since your history of silence  
Won't do you any good,  
Did you think it would?  
Let your words be anything but empty  
Why don't you tell them the truth?

I just wanna see you  
I just wanna see you  
I just wanna see you  
I wanna see you be brave

By the end of the song, Louis is… clapping. Simon thanks the contestant politely before batting him out, eyebrows stoutly raised. They discuss Adam’s fate for the cameras soon afterward.  
“I loved his performance.”  
“Yes, he has something.” Simon nods. “He reminds me a little of you, you know.”  
Louis laughs.  
But when the cameras are turned, there’s another conversation taking place. There has been for the past two contestants. Adam is no exception.  
“He really has the X factor.” Louis marvels. “He’s going to go places, for sure. And he’s openly gay? I didn’t pick up on that before.”  
“Oh, it’s been edited out, Louis, just like his little self outing just now is gonna be.”  
“Oh.”  
“I have big plans for that kid. I’m not going to let him tank his career before it begins.”  
Louis is shaking his head, venom building up at the tip of his tongue.  
“Don’t give me that look Louis. It’s just good business.”  
“You’re going to destroy that kid’s life, Simon.”  
“I beg your pardon? I’m going to make him a star. I’m going to give him everything he ever dreamed of. Just like I did for you. That calls for hard work and some sacrifices. But that’s hardly what I would call destroying someone’s life.”  
“Are we still talking about Adam?”  
“I was. Do you have something on your mind, Louis?”  
“Cut the crap, Simon.” Louis lets out a short breath. “I know you know about Harry and me.”  
“I do, so I have to ask…. What is the plan here, Louis?”  
“We don’t have one yet. But according to you, it can’t involve coming out publicly, I gather.”  
“While still in the band?” Simon mocks, taking a sip of his coffee. “You can’t be serious. I can’t believe you artistic types sometime. All feelings, no brains.”  
Louis glares but doesn’t comment.  
“Louis, I couldn’t care less about what you do behind closed doors. But for the rest, leave it to the pros, please. If you were to do this, you’d lose your fanbase--”  
“Bu--”  
“You would. But more importantly, I’d lose money. You’d lose money.”  
“I don’t care about the money.”  
“Spoken like a true millionaire, Louis.”  
“Look, there are tons of people who’ve come out in the industry and are still very successful. Look at Matt Bomer, Neil Patrick Harris, Ellen Degeneres, Lance Bass, Elton fucking John!”  
“Name one boybander who came out of the closet while still in the band.”  
Louis opens his mouth, but soon stops in his tracks.  
Simon looks justified. “Exactly. And there’s a reason for that.”

**

During a break, Louis is literally fuming. He was prepared for Simon--- or, at least, he thought he was. But it didn’t go as he expected.  
He texts Harry between two contestants.

 

11:45  
Boo (Bear emoji): I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

11:45  
Curly: :( What did Voldemort say?

11:46  
Boo (Bear emoji): He knows. Couldn’t care less.

11:46  
Curly: That’s good. Right? I’m confused.

11:46  
Boo (Bear emoji): No Babycakes, it’s not. :-(

**

After the performances, Louis bumps into Adam and invites him for a drink.  
“Hey. I was very impressed by you this morning.”  
Adam giggles. “Oh God. Really? It means so much to me.”  
“Can I ask you about something?”  
“Sure.”  
“Something personal.”  
“Ummm, I guess.”  
“Okay. Feel free not to answer if you’re uncomfortable though, okay?” Louis lets out a sigh. “Did Simon talk to you about his plans for you after The X factor?”  
“A little. He said he had big plans.”  
“You didn’t sign anything yet, right?”  
“No. The show is not over.”  
“If I’m right, you’re not gonna win. And Simon is going to sign you under Syco.”  
“Oh my god.” Adam giggles once more. “That would be amazing.”  
“Hold on, there’s a catch. A price to pay, if you will.”  
Adam looks puzzled.  
Louis continues. “You’re young, you’re cute and marketable to preteens--”  
“You’re cute too.” Adam grins over his drink, batting long eyelashes.  
“Cheeky. But I have a boyfriend.” Louis says, smiling.  
“Too bad.” Adam pouts.  
“As I was saying before I got rudely interrupted by your flirting--”  
Adam giggles.  
“Simon is going to make you look straight, Adam.”  
“Wh-- What?” Adam’s smile falls.  
“He’s already started. He’s editing out everything you ever said in the matter out of the show.”  
“But I don’t want to be anyone but myself.”  
“Oh I know. Believe me, I know.”  
“Why can’t I be the next Adam Lambert?”  
“Beats me. The only thing I know is that Simon thinks gay does not sell to teens.”  
“I don’t really trust him, everyone says he’s a shark.” Adam makes a face. “I guess everybody is right.”  
“Look I’m not telling you what to do. And I’m not naive enough to think that I’d be where I am right now without fitting into the boyband mold, straightness and all… And I might hate Simon’s guts, but I have to hand it to him, he sure knows about business.”  
“What are you saying then?”  
“I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into, that’s all.”  
Adam thinks for a minute then turns to Louis. “How are you handling it?”  
“Frankly? Not well.”  
“I don’t want to be shoved in a closet Louis. I’ve fought tooth and nails to get out all my life. I don’t know if it’s worth it.”  
Louis smiles. “Let me hook you up with someone else then.”  
“Okay.”  
“Cheers.”  
They toast.  
“Tell me about that boyfriend of yours.” Adam grins. “Is it Harry?”  
Louis just laughs.  
“Yeah. I knew it. Tattoos don’t lie, mate.”

**

Louis gets back home to Harry in the middle of the night, the air cold, his legs jelly and his eyes tired from the night flight. He feels incredibly drained as he climbs dark stairs and kicks off his shoes, but he also knows that there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. Waiting for a morning flight, in his eyes, simply wasn’t worth it.  
Harry is sound asleep in bed when Louis gets there; hair splayed out over the pillow, one sock on, one sock off. Louis quietly gets undressed and slides under the covers with him, finding instant comfort with the warmth of the bed, and, the even warmer Harry.  
Home.  
Louis spoons him, cuddling his face into Harry’s shoulder.  
“Mmmh. Honey, is that you?” Harry says, turning over to face him, groggily snuggling himself into Louis’ chest.  
Louis chuckles softly. “Why are you expecting someone else in our bed in the middle of the night, babe?”  
“Shhhh. Sleep now. Talk later.” Harry says, into Louis’ collarbone.  
“I’m so happy to be home, you have no idea.” Louis sighs, his mouth in Harry’s hair.  
“Mmm? That bad?”  
“Well a cute boy flirted with me, but besides that…”  
“What?” Harry’s eyes shoot open.  
“Look who’s awake now?” Louis chuckles.  
“I don’t want cute boys to flirt with you.” Harry mopes.  
“I didn’t flirt back.” Louis says, removing a strand of hair from Harry’s face.  
Harry hums.  
“In fact, I told him all about my handsome boyfriend,” --Louis pecks him on the forehead-- “And his sexy tattoos,”--Louis pecks him on the cheek--“And his fine abs,”--Louis pecks him on the other cheek--“And his gorgeous hair,”--Louis pecks him on the chin--- “And his pretty eyes,”--- Louis pecks him on the right eyelid--- “And his godly legs.” ---Louis pecks him on the left eyelid.  
“Did you tell him how endowed I am, too?” Harry says, eyes closed, cheekily smiling in the dark.  
“I was trying out romance there, Curly.” Louis deadpans.  
“Well, try it naked then. I missed you.”

**

A few days later, they’re invited to a costume party hosted by no other than Niall and Sam. Niall insisted, of course--- (“Yes, I have a semi-wife but that doesn’t mean that I can’t still host the craziest parties, alright?”)-- and it’s so, on the night of the do, Harry finds himself at Sam’s house, getting ready with her. Louis is somewhere else as of now, determined to get his costume perfect, getting his haircut or whatever.  
“Haz. How on earth am I supposed to fit all my hair in this blue thingy?” Sam whines, glaring into the neon bright wig in her hands.  
“Hah.” Harry laughs.” I know your hair is supposed to be wild and unruly, but I think you’ll manage.”  
“Are you really still going as that?” Sam says, looking at him disbelievingly. “I know there are no cameras allowed, but, you know, it’s still ballsy, so to speak.”  
“Hah. I know. I didn’t have much choice, though. Look at the text Louis sent me this morning.”

Boo (bear emoji): I’m going as “Hot Hugh Hefner”. Try and top that, Curly! xx

Harry bites his lip. “Do you think he’ll be surprised?”  
“Hmm. Him and everybody else, yeah! Although you can totally pull if off with these legs of yours.”

**

The party, per say, is literally Halloween come early-- gigantic, wavering paper spiders dangling down from the ceiling and brushing against the guest’s heads, neon-lit ghosts holding huge bowls of sweets guarding each exit and entrance and golden paper stars littering the makeshift red carpet stretching across the room. There’s flickering domed candles on each and every table, shining every plausible colour of the rainbow thanks to the incessant strobe lights, and under their steely presence, Louis feels almost like he’s being interrogated.  
But besides that, everything is great. He’s clad in a red silk robe, an unlit cigar tucked between his lips, and has his hair done in a quiff so high it would make even Nick Grimshaw faint at it’s extremity. Right now, he’s talking animatedly with Liam (The Hulk) Payne, trying not to laugh at the fact that Zayn (Edward Scissorhands)’s wig is tragically drooping at the sides in the meantime.  
Niall is over in the corner, clad tight in a ridiculous Thing 2 costume, serenading each arriving party goer with a random song, the tune changing each time someone passes. It provides an amusing backdrop for the party for a while as people continue to shuttle in, but is soon cut short as soon as Sam and Harry arrive.  
Because, well.  
Fuck.  
Sam’s the Thing 1 to Niall’s Thing 2 (of course), but that’s not what Louis is staring at.  
Nah.  
The thing he’s staring at is the absolute bastard wearing the Playboy bunny outfit over in the doorway, a skimpy pink skirt hanging from his waist, fluffy ears sticking out of his hair. The thing he’s staring at is currently giggling at something Sam said upon entering, tucking a strand of vaguely sparkly curly hair behind his ear.  
The thing he’s looking at is making his throat tight and his crotch even more so.  
“Baby, you look fabulous.” Niall greets Sam, placing his guitar down near the door and enveloping her in a huge hug.  
Louis looks incredibly stunned as Harry walks towards him, lips parted, eyes wide. Or aroused. (Or both.) Harry can’t really tell, the bottle of wine he had earlier with Sam blurring his senses and making him feel a little tipsy, bordering on darish.  
“Oh God.” Louis finally speaks, throat bobbing like a ship on rocky waters.  
“You don’t like it?” Harry says, doing a little spin and smiling. His skirt leaves practically nothing to the imagination.  
“Fucdjfshcuidfdfdf”  
“What was that?” Harry says, practically beaming.  
“Nothing. He’s trying to recover.” Niall says from behind, loud cackle choking his words.  
“Are you trying to kill me, Hazza?” Louis says, in Harry’s ear.  
“Wh--? With what, this lil’ thing?” Harry does another twirl with a shake of the bum.  
“Okay, if this is becoming a mating ritual, we’re out.” Niall says in another laugh, leaving with Sam towards the bar.  
“What are you doing?” Louis asks, very close to Harry’s ear.  
“You’re a grown man. It would surely take a little more than a shake of my bum to kill you, wouldn’t it?” Harry answers, very pointedly in Louis’ ear.  
“Harold, I’m tenting my silk robe.”  
At that, Harry barks a laugh. “You’ll have to prove it, I’m afraid. I would have to check for myself.”  
“Meet me in the toilets in five.” Louis says, already heading towards them.  
Challenge accepted, it seems.

**

Harry grabs Louis and shoves him into one of the stalls of the empty toilet, kissing him hungrily, opening the robe in one swift movement.  
“Oh my god, Lou, you went commando under there!” He exclaims.  
“Well, I’m Hugh Hefner. You know what they say, go big or go home.”  
And big it certainly is--- Louis’ erection pointing right at Harry in the toilet cubicle, who’s already chewing at his bottom lip in anticipation.  
“I’d say it’s very very very big.” Harry says, mesmerized.  
Louis palms himself in one hand and grabs Harry’s asscheek in the other.  
“Oh my god. Is it--? Nooo! You didn’t--” Louis then turns Harry around and lifts the skirt up unceremoniously. “You did! It’s lace!”  
Harry looks behind his own shoulder, sheepish.  
“You did it on purpose! You’re the devil!”  
Louis turns him around again, so they’re face to face, and kisses his neck, bringing him even closer and putting his hand squarely on Harry’s bum.  
“It was a gift.” Harry says, Louis kissing him up and down the jaw in the meantime. “From Greg and Nick. A ‘congratulations on getting your man’ gift. Pretty sure they did it as a joke, but…”  
“Awww. Those fuckers. Now I don’t have any problem ripping them off of you. With my teeth.”  
Oh.  
Oh.  
He turns Harry over, swiftly getting on his knees. It’s not long before he’s fully pulling the skirt up, getting a good view of Harry’s bum as Harry arches his back up and closes his eyes.  
“You got lacy underwear.” Louis says, from down there. “You’ll never guess what I got.”  
“What? Tell me!” Harry says. “Was it a dildo?”  
Louis is mouthing at Harry’s bum through the underwear, and makes a noise that sounds like a no.  
Harry asks between soft moans-- “Was it glittery lube?”  
Louis chuckles then.  
“I wish. That would’ve been useful, at least. I got a Barbie sized pink closet with a note saying ‘Look, they make it your size, Lou!’ Twats.”  
Harry chuckles. “I like that you’re tiny, Lou. I like that I’m bigger than you now.”  
Louis tears the fabric with his teeth. Harry squeals a little.  
“Oh, Is that so?” Louis then put his erection between Harry asscheeks and licks sloppily Harry’s neck.  
“You know, they have a point.” Harry says, chest squished against the cubicle wall. “Our lives would be easier if we were out.”  
“Shut up. I’d much rather be inside you right about now.”  
Harry pulls down his skirt in a haste.  
“The ears stay.” Louis hungrily says, right in Harry’s ear, making Harry moan breathlessly against the wall.  
Louis is still, in fact, plastered on Harry’s back when they hear someone enter the bathroom, whistling happily to themselves.  
Liam.  
Louis puts two fingers in Harry’s mouth with one hand, grabs Harry’s erection with the other and murmurs softly in his ear---  
“Be quiet. can you be quiet for me, love?”  
But Harry’s moan is all but quiet. Liam makes a double back.  
“Shit, not again.” Liam pouts.  
(And yep. He peed on the floor.)  
Harry has to turn over to muffle his laugh on Louis’ shoulder, Louis trying very hard not to burst out into a snort. When Liam finally leaves, trotting green body paint footprints all over the tiles, Harry cackles against Louis’ shoulder, his head dipped down and his hands pressed on either side of Louis’ silk robe.  
“We’ve come full circle, babe.” He says.  
Louis kisses him to muffle his laugh before sitting down on the closed toilet lid, placing Harry on his lap, one leg on either side of Louis.  
“There will be others. Can you be silent, baby? Like, completely silent?”  
Louis is already opening him up with spitlicked fingers. Harry bites at his lip, nodding frantically, cheeks red as he rocks his hips up in anticipation.  
“Alright then.” Louis chuckles at Harry’s eagerness before entering him, painfully slowly, and bouncing him steadily in his lap.  
He’s full of praise in Harry’s ears as Harry rocks up and down, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck, lips parted and brow contorted as Louis holds him close---  
“You’re doing so well, babe. So, so well.”  
“God, this feels so good.”  
“Go on, bite on my fingers if you want to scream.”  
This goes on for minutes-- Harry whimpering and biting down on Louis’ fingers, eyes tight tight shut as he moves closer into Louis’ neck, panting in his ear as Louis holds him tight.  
“Are you close, babe?” Louis asks, grabbing Harry’s neglected erection.  
And at that, Harry bites Louis’ shoulder. The unexpected touch drives Louis over the edge and soon has him seeing stars-- pulsing feelings washing over his body and making his jaw judder.  
“Lou, please, suck me off, I’m so close.” Harry begs, still bobbing, eyes barely open. “I want your mouth, please, please, please.”  
Louis is still jelly legged from his orgasm, but he’d be damned if he doesn’t let his boy have his way.  
Louis gets up, sinks to his knees and swallows him whole. Harry has his back to the stall again as Louis bobs his head to and fro, eyes fluttering shut, but after a few licks, Louis looks up at him, eyes so so bright and blue contrasting with the red of the robe he’s still wearing and the white of the stall wall. Their eyes meet, and the sight is enough to make Harry come without warning.  
“Shit.” Louis breathlessly laughs, surprised, backing up and letting Harry finish his load on the bottom of Louis’ robe.  
Louis stands up and kisses him for a while, tugging at his curls, pressed up flat against the cubicle wall.  
“You better stay behind a little, love. You looked… well… freshly fucked.” Louis says, eventually pulling away, a fresh grin on his lips.  
It’s not long before he’s left to rejoin the party, leaving Harry to stare at himself in the mirror, aghast at his swollen lips and the jumpy nature of his heart.  
He can’t tell if the redness of his cheeks are from stubble burns from Louis or just the heat he’s feeling.

 

**

The party is fully on when Louis gets back, Sam and Niall taking centre stage and singing/yelling/destroying “I’m shipping up to Boston” at the top of their lungs. Sam sure can make a mean Irish accent when she puts her mind to it.  
“Louis you have a bit of milkshake on your robe.” Liam says, as Louis walks past him to the drink bar.  
Zayn just shakes his head and punches Liam on the shoulder.  
“I’m in character, Li.” Louis deadpans. “It’s called method acting, you twat!”

**

They resume the tour in Dublin for three shows, and for that time, everybody agrees to let Niall take the stage for the new song sessions, the end of each show filled with coy grins and loving ballads directed to the first row. (Where, more often than not, Sam is standing, holding her heart and wiping fake tears away.)  
After their last show, when Harry’s back in the room he shares with Louis, he’s busy on his computer, lazily splayed out on his belly with his legs dangling over the pillows. Louis is sat beside him, trying to sloppily translate a Gaelic tour guide out of pure boredom, Harry’s feet right beside him.  
But it’s nice. It’s a silly silence, filled with Louis’ frowns and scoffing and snorting at the tour guide model’s various compromising poses beside landmarks, but a comfortable one-- that is, until Harry breaks it.  
“I just got an e-mail, Lou.” Harry says, immediately perking up on his elbows. “We’re-- Fuck-- being summoned to a mandatory meeting with Voldemort and the Grinch next week.”  
Louis chews on his bottom lip, instantly nervous.  
“Fuck.”  
“We knew this was coming, babe. It’s hardly a surprise.”  
“I know. Still, what we have... it’s fairly new. Sue me for wanting to enjoy it a little longer, just the two of us, before everyone gets involved.” Louis laughs nervously.  
“Yeah…”  
They stay silent for a few minutes, each one of them lost in thought, waiting for the other to say something. Anything.  
“I don’t--” Harry takes a deep breath, looking over his own shoulder. “Please don’t freak out on me. It’ll destroy me if you do this time.”  
And at that Louis is wide eyed, almost panicky. He moves to get on top of Harry, his belly to Harry’s back, hugging him tight.  
“I’m not freaking out.” He says, chin at the base of Harry’s hair. “Well, I am. But I’m not running. That must count for something, right?”  
“I guess…”  
Louis tightens his grip. “What do you want to do, Harry?”  
Harry looks incredibly serious in the moment, eyebrows low, eyes open. He looks at Louis, and he parts his lips, and for one sickening minute, Louis knows exactly what he’s going to say.

“I want to come out.”


	18. 18

Chapter 18

 

"For your eyes only  
I'll show you my heart"  
\- One Direction, If I Could Fly

 

September 2014

 

September is a stormy blue: raindrops lashing out against window panes, crackling against the pavement outside, relentless even when Harry and Louis lug their suitcases out of the car and into the warmth of their shared house-- not even stopping in the late evening, when they're unpacking in the bedroom and exchanging sighs.  
It's been five days since Harry told Louis that he wants to come out-- and five days since Louis has started to act… a little strange. Harry can't quite pinpoint exactly what it is about him that seems off-- the small smiles, the distant stares, the little puffy sighs that leave his lips almost ceremoniously-- but all of these little things combined with the fact that Louis has been weirdly silent and cuddly these past few days makes Harry a little on edge. He doesn't want to be, but he is.  
So, on this late evening, when the silence in the room has risen to the fucking ceiling and he just can't take it anymore, Harry decides to speak, breaking the tranquility between them previously marked with the careful unfolding and folding of clothing and placing books back in their rightful places.  
He decides to tread lightly. “The meeting is in two days, Lou.”  
Louis simply nods, lips small and taut, eyes distracted as he limply folds and unfolds the same shirt several times.  
“Louis?”  
“I know, I know.” Louis says, not making eye contact.  
He sighs, abruptly, looking a little annoyed. Despite it, supposedly, being one step up from gathering no response whatsoever from Louis, it still strikes a nerve in Harry, causing him to pause all unfolding movements and stare at Louis for a few seconds. When Louis doesn't stir, Harry lets out a huff that could move a mountain, and begins to moodily unpack sets of socks onto the bed.  
“I gather from your attitude that you don't want to come out then.” He huffs, overdramatically slamming a pair of socks together and throwing them in the washing basket.  
“Here we go.” Louis mumbles.  
Harry places his hand on his hip, anger coiling up in his stomach. “What do you mean 'here we go?' M'not a mind reader, Louis. How the hell am I supposed to know what you want if don't want to talk about it?”  
“Really?” Louis feigns shock and gapes at him. “You were pretty quick to assume that I wanted to stay closeted just now.”  
Harry's brow crumples.  
“Believe it or not, I want to come out. But there are a lot of things to consider here. Things that I'm pretty sure you're overlooking. Like the future of the band. Like my family's reaction. Plus, in case you didn't notice, I have been through a lot lately and I wouldn't mind enjoying the peace and quiet for a minute before going to war against Simon fucking Cowell. Can you understand that?” Louis says, looking on edge and exhausted all at once.  
“You mean, you want to do what Liam and Zayn are doing?”  
“Yeah. What's wrong with that?”  
“Ummm, everything?” Harry says, unbelieving.  
“It seems enough for them.” Louis answers, stubbornly.  
“But is it enough for you, though?” Harry asks, a lot softer now.  
“I kinda like the bubble we're in right now, H.” Louis says, almost guilty, looking at the floor with vulnerability written all over his face.  
It's enough to shift Harry from across the room to next to him, placing gentle arms around Louis' waist, tugging him close and feeling Louis jar his eyelids shut against his cheek. They stay there for a few seconds before Harry pulls back, gliding his hands up to Louis' face, brushing away the flop of his fringe and looking at him.  
“Baby, I've watched you grow into yourself and become the man I always knew you could be. And m'so, so proud of you for it.” Harry meets his eyeline, voice soft, fingertips gently stroking at Louis' skin-- “But I hope you realise that this bubble...it's not... it's not real. It's a mirage. M'sure deep down you know it.”  
Louis nods, placing his hands on top of Harry's and seems to really think about his words for a bit. Now that Harry and him are fully committed to each other -- hell, they live together-- the littlest things have been complicated because they're not out. Every phone call to his mother pretending he was elsewhere, every touch he's had to prevent while not in the privacy of their own home, every glance he's had to divert, every kiss he couldn't enjoy in the moment---- everything has been a lie upon a lie upon a lie.  
Everything but his wonderful boy and how they feel about each other.  
And all in all, at the end of the day, it's not enough.  
Louis wants more.  
He wants everything, the fucking cake and the cherry on top. And his doubts leave him as quickly as they came when he ends up with a conclusion that surprises both himself and Harry, rises in his mind like a tidal wave, crackles at his stomach like wildfire. All at once, he feels static rise in his fingertips, and yes, he is immortal.  
His eyes flicker to Harry's face. “Let's burst the bubble.”  
And then, Harry smiles big and wide and happy, dimples caving into his cheeks, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes.  
“So we're doing this then?” Harry double checks, deep in the crook of Louis neck.  
“Yep.” Louis closes his eyes. “We are coming out.”

**

It's way too cold for September-- way too cold for mild frost to be threatening to clamber up window panes and for the heating to be on. At least, this is what Niall muses as he looks out of his apartment window, watching the city blare on down below, feeling goosebumps rush up and down his skin at the cold air. Maybe it's just climate change, he tells himself. Maybe it's just a weird British day.  
He ignores, of course, the burning voice in his head telling him he's wrong. Obviously.  
“So, you're going back to school soon.” He speaks, feeling as though he'll go insane if he doesn't break the sole company he holds with his thoughts.  
He takes a sip of tea, scorching to the touch, and winces loudly as it burns his tongue. Across the room, Sam is too distracted to notice-- playing with her camera, concentrating on getting the right filter with jabby thumbs and a scrumpled mouth.  
“Uhuuuuuu.” She says, biting her lip.  
Niall stares down at his steaming tea. “Are you going to take that apartment you showed me?”  
“Oh, I took it already.” Sam looks up.  
“What?” Niall looks back, slightly pissed.  
“What what?" Sam frowns, not getting his sudden annoyance.  
“I mean, you could have talked to me about it first, but okay, I guess.” Niall gets up and goes to pour some cold water in his tea.  
He pours too much. The cup is ruined, and he lets out a hearty huff before dumping it in the sink and letting out a sigh to follow it.  
“Well, it's close to my uni and not too far from my parents, plus it's nice and cosy and I can afford it now, thanks to you guys, what is there to talk about?” Sam calls.  
Niall just looks confused at this point, turning around to slump himself on a chair in the kitchen, deeply frowning. It doesn't suit him one bit.  
Sam soon joins him, sitting securely on his lap, putting her arms around his neck.  
“What's wrong, baby?” She asks, softly.  
“I don't know.” Niall says. “I guess I'm just not prepared to not see you everyday, that's all.”  
“We'll see each other all the time, Ni.” She dismisses, sighing.  
“It's not the same, Sam, and you know it.” Niall says, removing her from his lap and going to look out of the window once again.  
He tells himself it's just to look outside, but he knows that the both of them probably know it's not the truth.  
“I don't know what to say here. I feel like I've done something wrong but I don't know what it is.” Sam dawdles behind him, shifting from foot to foot.  
Niall sighs, his hands in his pockets.  
“You don't want me to go back to school, is that it?”  
“Completing your education is important, Sam.” Niall says, matter-of-factly, his tone neutral.  
She gets behind him and puts her arms on his middle, her head inbetween the warmth of his shoulder blades.  
“You know, my boyfriend is loaded.” She says, cheek squished against his back. “He can come and see me whenever he misses me. I'd let him fly me to exotic places even, if it pleased him. He would totally take me to fancy restaurants like Planet Hollywood Bombay or whatever.”  
Niall huffs and places his hands on hers. “Oh would he now, huh?”  
“Yes.” She arches her neck to look at him. “See, he fancies me a lot.”  
“He's pretty much gone for you, I'd say.”  
He turns around and places his hands on her cheeks, sighing deeply. She holds onto his wrists and sighs back.  
“What's really bothering you, love?” She asks, gently.  
“What if you meet a cute photographer?”  
“Been there, done that. What else?”  
“What if you get insecure because I'm linked to a different girl every week?”  
“Mmmmh. Then you text me some funny memes every time it happens to tell me how ridiculous it is. What else?”  
Niall doesn't meet her eye. “What if we drift apart?”  
“Do you want us to drift apart?”  
He shakes his head. “Hell no. I love you.”  
“Then we won't drift apart.” She says, matter of factly. Like it's that easy.  
Niall nuzzles his nose in the crook of her neck, letting her hair tickle his cheek. For a moment, he just stands there, inhaling and exhaling, eyes shut as he holds her close.  
And then, that moment ends with Sam nuzzling her chin on Niall's shoulder. “It's quite funny, you know.”  
“Me basically telling you that I'm going to miss you is funny?”  
Sam smiles. “No, silly, I never would have thought you of all people would get insecure about us.”  
“Clearly you're underestimating the impact you had on my life.”  
“Really, Hunter?” She scoffs. “I don't think I am. I can see how much you've changed and grown, you know. I would not, however, put it solely on me.”  
“I'm serious. I've never felt like this before, it's a little unsettling.”  
She smiles then, sheepish, rosy cheeks blaring as she bats him away. “You charmer, you. God.”  
“I'm happier than I have ever been, Sam.” He keeps her close. “That's why I don't want anything to change, I guess.”  
She cocks her head. “Change is not necessarily a bad thing, you know?”  
“Aren't you scared at all?”  
“Of course I am.” She says, placing her hands on his collarbones and watching her thumbs skirt to and fro across them--- “I'm scared shitless all the fucking time. But if I've learned anything from Harry and Louis, aside from wearing earplugs to bed is mandatory when sleeping in the next room as them, is that 'Out of sight, out of mind' is the dumbest saying I have ever heard.”

**

Louis feels his throat constrict as he and Harry walk, almost rhythmically, along the glass-paned silver-plated hallways that stretch across Modest's headquarters. It's a maze of steel and carpet-- the smell of antiseptic hanging thick in the air, almost sticking to Louis' skin as they walk past numerous headshots and awards and charity posters lining the walls like death notes. He hates it.  
He hates this.  
They reach the last door along the corridor and come to a halt. Louis tugs on Harry's sleeve before he knocks on the door, manners veiling the taut nature of his chest, not even easing when Harry responds with a small smile and a squeeze of the hand.  
Fuck.  
They're standing in the belly of the dragon now--- Modest Management's chic, sparkling glamour haul of an office building, awaiting an audience with none other than Simon Cowell and Richard Griffiths.  
Which is just great, of course. Nothing in the world eases Louis' nerves than Voldemort and the Grinch.  
A faint 'come in' sounds from behind the door, and Harry looks at Louis one last time before pushing it open resolutely. Louis is biting on his bottom lip at this point, hiding his knuckles beneath flabby jumper sleeves as he sits down beside Harry in one of the two uncomfortable, right-angle steel chairs plonked before the main desk--- and his heart is racing.  
Uncontrollably so.  
Hah.  
Voldemort and The Grinch. It's kind of ironic. Louis remembers the day he and Harry named them that-- high as a kite many years ago in some dungy hotel room-- and yeah, it's stuck ever since. It was funny at the time, but now, it almost feels like they're being punished for it-- the vibe in the room striking Louis as more like two creepy high school principals/urologists/dementors giving naughty students than what it's supposed to be-- a casual meeting between business partners.  
But yeah. Simon Cowell and Richard Griffiths are sat opposite them at a shiny, over-polished glass table as of now, lips pursed, hands crossed. Louis doesn't like the looks they're giving him, but then again, when has Louis liked anything from the likes of them? They literally symbolise bad news. Louis looks at them now, and what does he see?  
He sees something that will never end with him on top. He sees pure, unfiltered, smugly attired Hell.  
Fuck.  
“So, I took the liberty of inviting you two to this meeting--” Simon begins, standing and placing his hands on either side of the table.  
Harry crosses his legs.  
“Inviting,” He snorts.  
Louis wants to curl up into a ball and die. Simon's being Simon, Harry's already in a vindictive state, Louis' stomach is jumping all over the place---  
\-- and this won't end well.  
He lets in a shaky breath and squeezes Harry's thigh. The gesture is warm, but the look Simon shoots them in response is anything but.  
Fuck.  
“As Simon was saying, in light of the new development of your relationship and the apparent quietness of both your public love lives, he and I wanted to run a few ideas by you.” Richard says.  
Louis tenses on his chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop, heart hammering in his chest. Harry, from first glance, is not so much better-- jaw tight and fists clenched on the table. He's feigning nonchalance, but Louis can read his frustration like a book. In mild, dwindling hopes, he looks at the floor and prays that, by some miracle, whatever they say next will improve the mood of the room.  
Simon straightens. “Clearly, promo season is upon us, and, well, you know what that means.”  
Well, there goes that fucking miracle.  
Louis glances at Harry. Taut jaw, slitted eyes, small lips. The emphasis of Simon's words have clearly hit him too--- publicity stunts.  
And then, he looks back at the table. Simon has deposited a folder there, in front of which, there lies six neat headshots of girls. Three model types in front of Harry, three girl-next-door types in front of Louis.  
“Choose.” Simon says.  
Louis, who has yet to say a word, just puts his hands on either side of his nose and tries his best not to cringe into oblivion. He's about to say something. He's prepared for this. He's going to say something as clearly and as calmly as he can manage, because God knows that losing his temper in front of the sharks with only lead them to smell blood in the water.  
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.  
Whatever Louis is going to say, though, however, is soon slammed right out of the way because Harry is on his feet in the next few seconds, throwing the photos from the table and shouting-- “No! Never again. We want to come out.”  
Fuck.  
Neither Simon or Richard bat an eyelash at the outburst. In fact, they don't seem to care at all, aside from the slight twitch of Simon's lips and the egotistically pursed mouth Richard seems to be sporting.  
But Louis is the opposite. He's going into a mild panic, grabbing Harry's arm to urge him to sit, trying to bat down the lurching waves of anxiety rocking up his chest and keep his cool all at once.  
“Dear lord.” Simon sighs, hand square on his forehead. “Are you prepared to bankrupt your bandmates, Harry?”  
Harry is evidently furious. “Take a look around. It's bloody 2014, Simon. I think the world can handle two boybanders being gay. We have every right to want out. We gave you your millions, now it's time to set us free.”  
Louis is quite literally shrinking in his seat. This is really not the way to handle this with Simon.  
Simon, however, seems to think on Harry's statement a bit. “Mmmmmmh. The thought you might say this crossed my mind after my last meeting with Louis, so I have a counter proposition for you. We could set you up to be a future gay icon, Harry. Louis, hmmm, not so much. Plus it would have to be way down the line.”  
Richard seems to agree with this, but Harry looks pissed and disbelieving all at once.  
Not a good combination, if Louis is going to be honest.  
“We could even start seeding it now, you know. It would work perfectly with the promo of 'Four', a glass closet for you, if you will, for the time being.”  
And finally Louis speaks, trying to appear collected but failing miserably. “Absolutely not. We are coming out together.”  
“Look, Louis.” Simon sighs. “Be reasonable, now. I could sell Harry as the bad boy, hinting here and there that he's sleeping around with men.”  
“Yeah, everyone but me, I see.” Louis snorts.  
“Towards the end of your contract, you two can do whatever you want. But the two puppies in love act, right now? No way.”  
“Why the hell not?” Harry blurts, stubbornly.  
“Harry. You are the frontman. But, Louis... As much as I like you, you're no Kardashian --no offence.” Simon gets up, pacing and excited by his own evil plan, making Louis' stomach lurch. “I can already see it. Rainbow flags at shows, female clothing here and there, a hint of 'pride' innuendos--”  
“What about Lou?” Harry finally asks.  
“He doesn't fit this plan. Not yet.” Simon answers.  
If Louis didn't know better, he'd think Simon even appears sorry.  
“In fact, for it to work, you'd have to cut back on the public interaction altogether. Clean separation. Especially if Louis is not comfortable with a female beard.”  
“Nope. No beard for me, thank you.” Louis says sarcastically.  
“I could work around that. I could have articles here and there insinuating that you had a falling out and that you're not even friends anymore. It could work. It's only a year and a half. We use this time to raise your profile Louis. And everyone is happy.”  
“Far from it.” Harry speaks once more, grabbing and squeezing Louis' fidgeting hand from beside him.  
Simon ignores him. “You would have to be paired up with well known men, of course, I already have tons of ideas--”  
Louis purses his lips. “You're not listening, Simon. We don't want to do that. I could barely handle seeing Harry linked to women, what makes you think I can handle Harry stunting with men?”  
Harry squeezes his hand once more, his kind eyes and warm smile clashing with the harsh atmosphere of the room. And, for a split second, Louis gets lost in them. In that moment, Louis feels strong, confident, loved and understood.  
Simon, of course, is quick to ruin the moment.  
Simon sighs, sits back down. “Look, if 'Larry' selled, we would have done it a long time ago. Right now, it's just not possible.”  
Harry lowers his brow. “If you stopped marketing us with make up and kiddy perfumes maybe it would work.”  
“No, Harry. We don't change a strategy that's working.” Simon shakes his head. “But what I can give you is you'll be both out by the end of your contract if you agree to this, how does that sound?”

**

It's minutes before the Newcastle show that Louis receives a text that completely and utterly shakes him to the bone. Yes, he asked Ed to do this for him, and yes, he guessed he always knew it was coming, but it doesn't stop the three words from imprinting themselves into his brain and running in circles for the rest of the night-- again, again, and again.

7:59 p.m  
Gingerbread: I found him.

**

Harry performs a song called 'Outlaws of love' that night, a peaceful smile on his face, eyes practically shut. And it shouldn't move Louis as much as it does, because he already knows it. Hell, he co-wrote it. But in the quiet arena, rendered practically silent as soon as Harry's fingers touch the keys, Louis feels oddly exposed and he can swear his beating heart can be heard from the last fucking row.

Oh, nowhere left to go  
Are we getting closer? Closer?  
No, all we know is "No"  
Nights are getting colder, colder

Everywhere we go  
We're lookin' for the sun  
Nowhere to grow old  
We're always on the run  
They say we'll rot in Hell  
But I don't think we will  
They've branded us enough, "Outlaws of Love".

Scars make us who we are  
Hearts and homes are broken, broken  
Far, we could go so far  
With our minds wide open, open

Hey, tears all fall the same  
We all feel the rain  
We can't change...

Louis' goosebumps only really go away once Harry is tucked in his arms, warm and cuddly in the hotel bed way too big for them--- happiness tucked beneath the stars.

**

The weather is strangely warm for September; the last dwindling tinges of summer making one last desperate grasp over the air before autumn barges through it's superiority. The battle the seasons are engaging in resonates clear to Louis as he sits on the terrace with Niall, watching the breeze tousle the first of the leaves to fall into small hurricanes on the grass-- seeing the birds swoop in every now and again to collect bits and bobs for their nests. Goodbye summer, Louis thinks, as he looks up at the sky. I'll only miss half of you.  
The barbeque Harry and Louis are holding at their house is, in part, to celebrate the ending of summer-- (to send it off “with a bang”, as Louis remarked earlier)-- and also to talk to the rest of the band about the meeting they had with Voldemort and co earlier on in the week.  
It's peaceful out here, content compared to the controlled havoc raging on inside as Sam and Harry prepare the food. Niall and Louis have been watching them for the past ten minutes, grinning wildly at the chaos reigning in there-- Sam giving Harry butt nudges every once in a while, gesturing with cutlery, dancing along to the songs on the radio. And yeah, Sam is two seconds away from leaving Harry one-eyed with her fork at some intervals, but it's still adorable to watch, and Louis doesn't mind the havoc being to do with someone else for once.  
He likes this peace.  
He's smoking right now, laid back on the bench-- seemingly fidgety and restless compared to the extremely chill, extremely placid Niall beside him, who has been smiling at nothing in particular for the past hour. Or maybe he's smiling at Sam, currently singing her heart out to Harry with a spoon as a microphone and extremely bad dancing to match. Harry is cackling, of course-- dimples almost sky high as he laughs at her, ignoring her cheesy cues and shimmies wherever they come. The sight makes Louis' chest melt.  
“You can't hurry love” blares out of the barely open window in pulses and Louis finds himself nodding along to it. Sam is now engaging herself in a vigorous drum solo with the spoon, hair flicking all over the place as she nods and waggles her head around. Harry, on the other hand, looks like he's about to piss himself.  
“I'm going to propose to Sam.” Niall cuts Louis out of his reverie.  
The cigarette smoke suddenly rises up the wrong way and Louis is spluttering, clutching at his chest, sitting up almost immediately. The statement caught him off guard, and it must be clear to see, because all Niall has to offer as an explanation is a confident nod and a grin.  
Louis coughs and looks at him, not exactly sure where to tread. “Wow. That's--- Wow.”  
“What?” Niall looks at him.  
“It just...It just seems a bit rushed, is all.” Louis shuffles. “I mean, I'm very fond of her, don't get me wrong. But marriage? You're both so young, Niall.”  
Niall smiles to himself, playing idly with the rim of his imported beer-- cast amber in the dwindling daylight. “I can't say that I'm surprised to hear you say that.”  
“Yeah, I take my sweet time, I know.” Louis grimaces. “But you're moving a little fast here.”  
“I know, but--” Niall shrugs and turns to him, speaking earnestly-- “When you know, you know, you know?”  
He's obviously very intent on making Louis understand, and as his words sink in (no matter how illiterate they may be) Louis finds himself almost agreeing.  
When you love someone as wholeheartedly as Niall loves Sam or Sam loves Niall for that matter, there is no point in waiting.  
And their story is so much simpler than Harry and Louis', too. They can love and live their life without anyone's approval.  
(He kind of envies them for that.)  
And so, he decides that he won't try and talk Niall out of it, because he doesn't really want to. Sam would make someone like Niall happy as hell, and that's really the best and only thing Louis would want for him-- for either of them, in that matter.  
“I think you have me confused with ringlover Styles, you know, if you're thinking about ring shopping.” Louis teases, sitting back.  
Niall cackles.  
“Nah, man, I just decided and needed to tell someone.”

**

They're about to eat when Louis' phone buzzes in his pocket. Gingerbread frantically blinks at him through the screen and Louis decides to take it in the study. He excuses himself.  
“Hey.” He tugs at his jumper sleeve once he's alone.  
“You're ignoring me. Not cool, man.”  
“I'm not ignoring you. I was just busy.” Louis hushes, carefully not to be heard by the others “There's a lot happening in my life right now.”  
Ed sighs loudly. “You're the one that wanted to know what happened to Stewie, Boo.”  
“I know. I know. I'm sorry. I need to know but somehow I don't know if I want to? If that makes sense?”  
“Your call, man.” Ed says, hesitant--- “Fuck. I don't know if you're ready for this, but it's been on my mind since I found out and I don't know, I feel responsible somehow--”  
“Slow down. You're scaring me now.”  
“He's fine. He's fine now, it's just--”  
“What do you mean now, Ed?” Louis says, eyes widening, voice heightening.  
“Stewie. He tried to k--”  
Ed doesn't have the time to finish though, as Harry sticks his head around the door and cuts the conversation short.  
“Are you coming, babe?” Harry says whispering. “The food is getting cold.”  
“Yeah. Yeah.” Louis gulps. “Sorry, Gingerbread, I… I gotta go. I'll come to your house tomorrow, okay?”  
Harry looks at him strangely, his features a question mark. But Louis just shakes his head, carefully trying to hide all the feelings that came crashing through his head all at once with a smile.  
And, as if nothing has happened, he guides Harry back on the terrace with a hand on his back, plasters a smile over his worry, and bundles all of the feelings taking ahold of his body down to his stomach.  
“Ed is having some girl problems.” Louis lies. “He's going to need some Tommo tough love.”

**  
It appears that autumn may be closer than originally thought, because it's not long before they're packing up and going inside to eat dessert-- brisk breezes uncomfortably ruffling jumper sleeves and spreading goosebumps over skin-- this time, with two more people at the table. Zayn and Liam arrived a few minutes before-- swaddled up in leather coats and genuine smiles, bringing both an increase in sound and stories of gossip to the house-- and now, they're all sat in the dining room, the tv on mute, clattering spoons and sheltered smiles the only communication whilst they eat.  
It's not soon before conversation resumes, however, and Louis guessed, what with the meeting with the bosses fresh in his mind, that it was always destined to take a darker turn-- but it doesn't prepare him for the painful reminder of the encounter and the pitying smiles the rest of his friends give him over the table as Harry recites what happened. He's all fire in his eyes and wild gesturing hands, and Louis remains silently watching for the majority of it, simply nodding out of fears his mind will drift and stir up less joyful topics and questions he doesn't have the answers to.  
He resolves to stay in the moment; watches Harry's anchor convulse and blur as he speaks.  
It sort-of works.  
At the end of his little rant, Harry looks almost deflated, reining back his enthusiasm to reveal a timid glance and an a thick layer of sheepishness-  
“You'd back us up. Right?”  
“Of course. Don't be stupid, I'm behind you a hundred percent.” Niall answers, automatically.  
“Whatever you need.” Liam amends, nodding, patting Louis' knee.  
“Yup, what they said.” Zayn concludes, fiddling with one of his bracelets and smiling up at them.  
Louis lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It's not like he expected them to react otherwise, really, or needed their permission, but it's always nice to have confirmation and approval from your friends when you want to do something. Especially something that would undoubtedly impact them in a very big way; possibly even putting them in the centre of a very big shitstorm.  
It's nice to know that the boys have their backs.  
Now that Harry knows he has the majority support, he's quick to return to his little rant, bottom lip sticking out as he plays with his crème brûlée.  
“Can you believe Simon?” He asks, evidently a mixture of baffled and riled up. “Bloody bastard. He's trying to milk the cow as long as he can.”  
Louis simply nods, watching him carefully, waiting for him to calm down as he grumpily prods and toys with the dessert.  
“I hate this.” Sam says, very shaken by the different scenarios Harry and Louis have been presented with by Simon. Her lips are a small line; she looks borderline horrified.  
Niall grabs her by the neck and kisses her forehead.  
“You never really get used to the stunts, Sam.” Liam explains. “You just kind of learn to detach yourself from it.”  
“Simon did say that you could come out at the end of it all, so can you wait?” Sam asks Harry, tone tentative.  
Harry's brows soften. “I think we've waited long enough.”  
With soft, sheepish eyes, he looks up at Louis, and Louis looks back. There's a beat of silence, but then Louis can't fight the smile as it starts to creep in, much less take his eyes off him.  
“Yeah. We're in this together, until the bitter end.” He says, simply, in response.  
Harry's face melts.  
And just like that, they're in the bubble again.  
“Guys, what's the plan here?” Sam asks, plopping her spoon into her bowl.  
“Yeah.” Niall reiterates, serious as anything. “I'm all down for 'Operation Free Sparrows', just say the word.”  
Louis just sends him an unimpressed look.  
He'd probably laugh if he didn't love the fucker so much.

**

It's about 1 a.m when a cold draft seeps in through the window and somehow makes it between Louis' shoulder blades-- and it's about 1 a.m when he wakes up, grunting and shivering, grumbling obscenities as he scrunches the covers tighter around himself and tries to wrestle himself deeper into the pillow. Harry's bundled just across from him, peaceful and warm, a literal angel lying down on the sheets-- and Louis would almost consider cuddling onto him if he didn't look so peaceful.  
Besides, Louis is as cold as fuck now, and the last thing he wants is tired, cold, disgruntled 1 a.m Harry on his conscience. He's weak at the knees looking at him just how it is.  
He turns away from Harry so that the temptation to cuddle him exits his mind completely, and he starts counting sheep in a weak attempt to shuttle off to sleep once more. One, two, three, four.  
At one point he thinks he's got it; smugly smiles to himself as his eyes shut and he waggles an imaginary flag in the face of Jack Frost and all of the cold gusts of wind he may bring--- but then, he suddenly feels very very awake, and the burst of energy kindling inside of him all at once is just too much. His eyelids refuse to settle, his legs refuse to still, his mind refuses to stop thinking of everything and anything at once---  
Fucking Hell. He hates this.  
All of a sudden he's thinking of the Sound of Music. And then sparrows. And then, Johnny Depp's red carpet outfits. And then, the world's tallest human being, and then, the circumference of Mars, and then, the space he wonders all of the world's discarded tissues would take up---  
Jesus.  
Stop thinking, Louis. He puts his hands on his face. Stop thinking.  
If his brain working overtime wasn't enough, the cold night appears determined in pissing him off too-- splaying gusts of wind everytime he finds a warm angle, causing the curtains to waver and jolt, casting bright slivers of moonlight across the bed and, as luck would have it, right onto Louis' face.  
Fuck this.  
He shuffles out of bed, determined to give up on sleep altogether, the packet of cigarettes on the side counter practically screaming his name--- but, as soon as his feet touch the floor, he hears Harry shift awake from beside him.  
“Where are you going, boo?”  
A sliver of Harry's face is visible in the darkness-- squinted, curious eyes, fluttering eyelashes, grumpily drawn eyebrows. Yet, his posture is gentle, and he means no harm. Louis knows this face better than he knows anything else entirely.  
Harry's fingers blindly brush past Louis' elbow and from that mere movement alone Louis can tell he's not fully awake. Louis holds onto his fingers for a few seconds, mind already made up, before pecking him on the forehead and nuzzling his nose against Harry's brow.  
“Nowhere, just need to wee.”  
Harry's eyes flutter shut once more, and he lets out a hum of acknowledgement before turning his face back into the pillow, fingertips lingering where Louis left them.  
“Okay.” Harry mumbles, quiet and slurred in response, voice dragged with sleep. “Hurry up, m'cold.”

**

Louis feels as tired as he looks when he reaches Ed's door the next day-- the day brisk and battering against his skin, even the leaves swirling on the pavement seemingly taunting his lack of energy as he lugs himself up stone steps and drags his hand to the wood.  
Ed opens the door, scowls, nods and lets him in in one flawless swoop. As Louis follows him in, he doesn't say a word, so Louis takes it as a cue for him to say something.  
“How did you find him?”  
“Shut up and sit."  
Ed sits opposite him on the patchwork armchair facing the sofa, and it's quite clear to Louis that he hasn't had much sleep either-- grey bags drawn taut under his eyes, a weary, almost wistful look in his eyes. He lets out a plump sigh before clasping his hands in his lap, his mere attitude making Louis uneasy, the way he keeps grating his bare sock against the carpet not really helping either. In fact, it makes Louis' lips want to twitch.  
“Do you know of the 'It Gets Better Project'?” Ed asks, scratching at his beard.  
Louis' face and mind fall blank.  
“No. What does it have to do with anything?”  
“Well, it began in 2010 after a number of LGBT students took their own lives after being bullied at school.” Ed seems laboured.  
Louis' face falls in sync with his stomach, a huge, gaping hole blossoming in his chest.  
“People started to do Youtube videos telling their own stories, you know? To give hope to LGBT youths and tell them that it does, indeed, get better. Thousands of people around the world joined in the movement and created their own videos---celebs, politicians, and you know, also regular normal people too.”  
Louis has a feeling he knows where this is going when Ed grabs his laptop from beside them, already opened and paused on a Youtube video.  
Fuck.  
Louis glances at the screen and gulps. It feels like he's fucking swallowing sand-- breathing quickening, jittery feelings in his chest heightening as his desperation and fear mounts. Guilt is the main emotion emanating off him, however, causing him to shift and jar in his seat, bite at his lip, rub his face.  
The sense of dread holding him captive is not likely to go away without a fight.  
“Are you sure?” Ed asks, softly, before placing it on Louis' vaguely trembling lap.  
Louis closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and presses play.  
There he is. Stewart.  
Stewie.  
Looking older but also kind of the same, soft, fragile features still mutely so, his skin still as pale as it ever was. His hair has grown a little, now cambering past the bottom of his ears, and his eyes, once the palest blue, have now plunged to a colour more resembling grey. Other than that, he looks almost identical to the way he was before-- and it causes Louis' eyes to tingle, his throat to dry, and an odd feeling of panic and realization to rush up his chest all at once.  
“Hi.” Stewie says. He looks sheepish, shy even as he sits in front of the camera, bottom lip taken between his teeth, looking incredibly small compared to the immense backdrop that's behind him. “I have no idea how to say this.”  
There's a moment of silence. He stares at the camera for a few seconds, before looking at the floor.  
“Okay. Okay. I'm just going to say it.”  
A deep exhale.  
Silence.  
And then, the biting of his lip once more.  
“My name is Stewart and I'm gay.” Stewie begins. “When I was fifteen, I tried to kill myself.”  
Louis hits pause and looks up at Ed, wide eyed and trembling hearted. If he's searching for a response, or an explanation, he receives none-- Ed is merely sat uncomfortably on the side of the armchair, chewing at the inside of his cheek, finding as much pleasure in it as Louis is.  
“Unpause.” He instructs.  
Louis takes a deep breath, puts a frustrated hand in his fringe and slaps his fingers on the button.  
Stewie takes a deep breath on the screen, looking everywhere but in the camera's eye. “I was bullied a lot when I was a kid.”  
Louis finds it hard to look at the screen anymore, but it's almost like he can't look away. His chest is shaking in the moment, it really, really fucking is-- and, oh god, oh god, oh god oh god oh god---  
“Even my own friends turned on me at some point. I had to switch schools several times. When it happens to you regularly enough, you start to think that there's something really really wrong with you.”  
Fuck.  
Louis feels tears tip over his vision and soon he's breathing out of his mouth to wrestle them back down-- to fight this, to hide this.  
But there's no hiding it. As always when he feels exposed, he's also hit with a neverending mantra that there's no way out.  
“I'm here to tell you that there isn't. You're perfect just the way you are. You don't need to change. You are not to blame. I know that...like...being battered down like that...it's…” He suddenly stops, a huge lump rising in his throat, and he has to pause to send it back down. “It's the worst thing in the world. But you can get through it. You can and you will.”  
Suddenly, he rolls his sleeves up, and Louis knows what it's going to be before it even shows on-screen. But, yet, he's still distressed when the thin scar marks, barely visible in the light, trickle into his view-- bottom lip trembling, heart thumping all around his chest.  
“These are my scars. They're a testament to my survival. I used to hide them but I don't anymore.” Stewie almost looks peaceful saying this last part. His mouth is small as he lets out a tiny exhale, barely audible, but cutting through the camera like a sharp knife.  
God.  
“And...if I could stop that from happening to anyone else, it would… It would mean so much, you know?” He puts his hands on either side of his face. “It would mean the world. And I know this isn't going to stop it happening. Or anything like that. But I just… I just wish it wouldn't. And, like, yeah, I wish that everyone could be accepting of each other and themselves, but, like…”  
He shakes his head and stops his train of speech. There's another pause.  
“I don't know. I just want to say that it gets better. It does. There's nowhere to go but up, you know? He tugs at his sleeve, eyelashes down as he averts his gaze from the camera. “I'm happy now. Matt, come and say hi.”  
Stewie gestures and a man joins him, a dark haired man with a sloping quiff and a startlingly-striped top. He's bulky, attractive, with a thick jaw and brown eyes, and as he saddles in beside Stewie it's like two different worlds have collided.  
“This is Matt, my beautiful boyfriend of three years.”  
“The love of my life, you are.” Matt says, grinning at him.  
Stewie pats his cheek. “Isn't he the sweetest?”  
“He takes care of me and I'm sweet to him. This is us in a nutshell.” Matt adds.  
Stewie laughs, but sobers up a second later--“And, you know the bullies? They're just bumps in the road at the end of the day. You can find help and support in the community. Just like I did. Things will get easier. People minds will change. And you… you should definitely be alive to see it.”  
The video ends.  
To say that Louis is very shaken is the understatement of the century. In fact, he feels like his entire world has collapsed on him. He places a hand square on his mouth, staring at his blank reflection in the laptop screen, and is not really surprised to feel tears there.  
Ed has the decency to look away, at least.  
“I'm going to go out for a smoke.” Louis says, getting up. “Pour me a drink, would you?”  
Ed looks pained. “Lou, it's not even ten a.m.”  
“Pour the fucking drink.” Louis warns, dwindling in the doorway for a moment before leaving. “The stronger the better.”

**

When Louis comes back, he downs the drink in one go. Ed is barely surprised.  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
Louis looks at him almost venomously. “What is there to talk about? He tried to kill himself because of me and my shitty friends. Fuck.” He begins to pace, hands on his jaw, each step furious and miscalculated. “And, yet, I'm the one that gets to live the glamorous life and achieve all of my dreams when I'm not even twenty three yet? How is this bloody fair, Ed? ”  
“Hey wait a minute, now.”  
Louis ignores him.  
Ed crosses his arms. “What does this have to do with anything, Lou? Just because you made mistakes, and pretty big ones, too, doesn't mean you don't deserve to be happy, okay?”  
“This--” Louis points out to the laptop-- “Is nowhere near okay.”  
“At least he's good now? The video is not even three months old, Lou. He's happy.”  
“Yeah, he's a strong kid.”  
“He's not a kid anymore. That's the whole point.”  
“Maybe I should go and see him. And... I don't know, apologise. Lord knows I wouldn't get Oli and Cal to do it but I can own up to my mistakes and try?” Louis is thinking aloud, tugging at his own sleeves.  
“You should bring Harry with you.” Ed offers.  
Louis' face gets hard all of a sudden. “Harry doesn't know about any of this and I'd like to keep it that way. He would never look at me the same and I really couldn't blame him.”  
“You should give him more credit, Lou.” Ed says, very pained.  
“No! Butt off! This is none of your business, okay? He's already coming home with me in the next few days. I'm gonna come out to my family and it's already as big of a deal as it can get for me and for him. You don't get to add Stewie to the pile, okay?”  
Ed retreats his hands held up in the air as in an apologetic/whatever posture, eyebrows raised.  
“Suit yourself. But, mark my words, it's gonna bite you in the arse sooner or later.”

**

To say Louis is jittery on the way to Doncaster is an enormous understatement. In fact, he spends the majority of the time acting like he's not jittery, which only seems to make things worse, much less easing the rhythmic bobbing of his knee, or fumbling hands that cease to stop fiddling with things. It's a bad state of mind for Louis; a mixture of feelings that Harry attributes solely to Louis preparing to see his family.  
Outside the car, the sky is grey. It keeps threatening to rain-- scattered droplets clattering down on the motorway every now and then-- but it's yet to build up, the tension yet to settle. It's almost resonant with Louis' incessant fiddling and shuffling as he sits there, messing with the various things in the car, tugging at his shoelaces and jumper sleeves.  
Harry is driving beside him, oddly peaceful, glancing in Louis' direction every now and again to see how he's doing. It's an unnecessary action, however-- as Louis is in charge of the music, and whatever song he plays is displaying his mood well enough.

I wanna hide the truth  
I wanna shelter you  
But with the beast inside  
There's nowhere we can hide

“Hey.” Harry says, gently, switching stations.“It's going to be okay.”  
“You have no way of knowing that.” Louis says, looking through the window.  
Silence fills the car for a moment.  
“I choose to be hopeful. It's always worked for me.” Harry says.  
“I know I'm a glass half empty kind of guy.”  
“That's why you have me.” Harry puts his hand on Louis thigh, gently rubbing it.  
“What if they never want to see me again, Haz?” Louis' tone of voice wavers as he looks out at the spaghetti junction of motorway, eyes beginning to sting and tear up, heart trembling in his chest.  
It's a pathetic question, but one that feels so likely and important to ask, and when it settles in the air, the dread surrounding it sticks and falls upon his skin.  
Like it will never leave him. This uncertainty.  
Harry is resolute. “Then we'll have each other. Always.”  
Louis puts his hand on Harry's. He hopes the single gesture will convey what he's feeling without him spilling more of his doubt into the air.

**

When they get there, the first few minutes are spent as they always are, pleasantries, small talk, and yeah, happy feelings are spread. It's nothing new to Louis, but he'd rather cut to the chase-- the elephant lingering at the back of his mind not likely to dissipate soon. It's weighing down on his emotions, making his chest tight, and comes to a peak once they gather everyone old enough not to be napping or playing in another room into the front room.  
God. Louis feels like he could die.  
“Mum, Dad. Lottie.”  
Harry nods encouragingly at him. He's sat down in an armchair opposite, hands clasped, the only other person in the room visibly affected by the tension.  
“There's something I need to tell you.” Louis sighs, simply. “Jesus, I don't know how to say this.”  
There's a beat of silence. Louis takes a deep breath.  
“I guess I should start at the beginning.”  
Then, as clearly and intelligibly as he can manage, he says--  
“I'm gay.”  
There's another beat of silence, but it's like the entire mood of the room has shifted. Mark is slumped, elbows on his knees as he stares up at Louis, puzzled. Lottie is covering her mouth, eyes darting everywhere, clearly in shock. Jay is…. honestly, Jay looks like she didn't hear him.  
“Mum?” Louis prompts.  
“I heard you.” She says, turning her head to Lottie. “Charlotte, go to your room, honey.”  
“No!” Lottie protests. “I'm not a child anymore. You can't just--”  
“Your room. Now.” Jay clips.  
Louis knows this tone. It's the tone their mum used time and time again when they were growing up. Lottie knows better than to argue, no matter how vocal and unhappy she may seem in response to it.  
“Urgh. Fine! But for the record, I stand by my brother!” Lottie says, storming out.  
Just before she leaves, she makes eye contact with Louis, who gives her the most sincere smile in response. She pauses beside Harry for a second, her face puzzled, but there's no judgement in it.  
After she's gone, Jay turns to Harry.  
If he could sink into the sofa right now, he would.  
“How long?”  
“Umm...” Harry turns to Louis for guidance, not wanting to say something wrong.  
Louis stirs the conversation to himself. “What are you asking, mum? How long have I been gay or how long have we been together?”  
Jay is about to answer, but Mark interrupts--- “It's just a phase. It must be. We never should have let you enter that contest in the first place. Show business is not a place for a kid like you, I knew it, I--”  
“Wooow. Slow down dad.” Louis says. “First of all, It's not a phase--”  
“Do you really expect us to believe that he has nothing to do with this, Louis?” Jay says, pointing jaggedly at Harry, slowly but steadily losing her cool.  
“Jay, I'm right here. There's no need to talk like m'not in the room.” Harry says, almost like a plea.  
She's about to make a snarky comment, (Louis learned from the best, after all) Louis can sense it, so he's quick to interject. “I am gay, mum. I was before I met him. I was born this way. It just took me a little time to figure it out.”  
“No, no, no! That's not true! It can't be! Not my boy!” Jay shouts, taking Louis by surprise.  
He looks like a rabbit in the headlights now, exposed and frightened, and that's Harry's cue to join Louis on the sofa and take his hand.  
“Don't touch him!” Jay bites through the tears angrily rolling down her cheeks.  
Neither of them move. In fact, Louis holds Harry's hand even tighter, closing his eyes and letting the tears uncontrollably streak down his face. Harry's throat tightens at the sight. He would rub the tears away, but he knows it would bring Jay over the edge at this point.  
“I love him, mum.” Louis quietly sobs.  
“This is all your fault!” Jay roars at Harry. “He was normal before he met you! I told you to back off! I was crystal clear!”  
What?  
“What? When? Why--” Louis gets up and looks between them.  
Harry simply shakes his head.  
“What did she say to you?” Louis says to Harry, before turning to Jay, looking very alarmed--- “What did you do?”  
“It doesn't matter, Lou.” Harry utters, pleading. “It was a long time ago. Please let it go, it's not what's important right now.”  
Louis considers his words. “Mum--”  
Mark interrupts him, tone firm yet dashed with a level of serenity that puts Louis on edge. “Harry, I don't want to be rude but I think you should leave and let us sort this out as a family.”  
Harry gets up and looks at Louis, waiting on his direction. “If you want--”  
“No!” Louis shouts, taking Harry's hand. “I want him here. I need him here!”  
Harry smiles then, the first genuine smile in what feels like hours. Louis stands a little taller for it, but it does nothing to change the mood, or the attitude of the people standing before him.  
Mark sighs. “Louis. Be reasonable. We're all on edge, you mother needs a little breathing room here--”  
“If he's leaving, I'm leaving.” Louis says, looking at his mother dead in the eye. He's saying it, but it's almost like he's begging her at the same time.  
Jay doesn't say anything.  
“Let's go.” Louis speaks, face hardening.  
They gather their things, but before leaving, Louis stands in the doorway and looks at his mother one last time. “Mum.”  
Jay scarcely looks at him, but he continues nonetheless.  
“It's been me and you from the start. Think about that.”  
She doesn't answer.

**

Harry doesn't even make it to the first turn with the car before Louis breaks and starts sobbing, facade cracking and slipping from his face as he becomes a wreck, hands shielding his face as his chest convulses. Harry pulls the car over almost immediately, his own lip already wobbling, and has only just undone his seatbelt before he's engulfing Louis in his arms, not even caring that the gearbox is jabbing at his hipbone in the process.  
They stay like that for minutes, if not the best part of an hour. It's a montage of soothing whispers, gentle touches and kisses on Harry's part-- and delirious, almost hysterical sobbing on Louis' part. It's like the pieces inside him have all cracked, and broken, and there's nothing left to salvage. Like he's slipping away, becoming empty and hopeless.  
The worst thing for Harry to witness in the world.

 

**

The carpet is green.  
That's the first thing Louis notices once they enter the hotel room. The next thing he notices is the mustard wallpaper. And then, the curtain that looks like someone has taken a shit on it.  
But he's not going to complain. He barely even has the energy to speak as he trods sleep-trodden legs across the green carpet and onto the bed, sinking into the mattress, letting out a deep sigh into the fabric. Harry is bobbing about around him, switching on the lights, looking at the bathroom, finding the pillows. He's so used to staying in 5-star accommodation that Louis probably wouldn't put it past him to ask reception for a yoga mat.  
He lets out another sigh into the mattress before turning over. They're in a shitty hotel situated not too far from Louis' house, and it shows in the rings below Louis' eyes. He, personally, wanted to drive home, but Harry convinced him otherwise, stating that maybe--- just maybe--- his parents just might need a little time to process everything.  
Harry's optimism must be rubbing off on him because it works. Or maybe Louis just needs to believe.  
He stares at the moth-trodden ceiling, eyes stinging, nose sniffling-- probably from all of the crying. Harry is quick to join him, spooning him, keeping him close and breathing him in. They lay like that for a while, neither of them wanting to break the peace and quiet. Louis is so still that Harry almost thinks that he's fallen asleep.  
“My mum, did she threaten you?” Louis asks, after a while, voice quiet velvet.  
Harry sighs.  
“No.” Harry shakes his head on the mattress. “Nothing like that, I swear. She was scared, I think? Maybe she knew on some level. I don't know. And it's so much easier to blame it on someone, you know?”  
Harry's words stir an image in Louis' head. A vivid image, in fact, of himself banging on Harry's collarbones, his own screaming echoing in his head--  
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so much!  
Louis tightens his grip on Harry's hand, flutters his eyes shut. For a few seconds, he listens to the methodic, slow sound of Harry's breathing, and finds his lips wavering without him even wanting them to.  
“I'm sorry about what she said today… about you. And what said back then.”  
“Don't be. It's not your fault.” Harry nuzzles Louis' hair.  
“You don't seem too affected.”  
“I am.” Harry whispers, lump forming in his throat. “M'heartbroken, in fact. But one of us needs to be strong right now.”  
Louis kisses Harry's hands. He turns over to feel Harry closer, hands around Harry's middle, his head on Harry's torso, bodies aligning and fitting like puzzle pieces all at once. In the silence, Harry traces patterns with his thumb on Louis' back, feeling his chest ease to and fro with each breath he takes, feeling Louis close to him with a naturalness and sense of serenity that clings to the setting sun and all of the stars.  
“I need a shower.” Harry announces, after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. “I was really stress sweating today, I stink. I'll be right back, okay?”  
Louis nods and lets him get up, holding a pillow tight to his chest while he watches Harry methodically unpack their things. Shampoo, conditioner, towel, socks. Fold, fold, fold, fold. By the time he's fished out everything he needs for the shower, there are five neat piles at the end of the bed, and Louis can't help but fight a little smile at the sight. But soon enough, Harry’s gone, and so is Louis' smile. He's left moping for two minutes tops before he lugs himself into the shower too; jolts the ugly shower curtain back to join Harry, naked and gorgeous even with the dark circles around his eyes.  
Harry's hair is slick stuck against his cheeks, and despite no look of confusion passing over his face, Louis feels like he needs to give an explanation anyway. The shower is so small, and dingy, and Harry looks a lot brighter in the sheer light.  
“I don't want to be alone.” Louis shrugs to him, biting his lower lip, looking fragile and soft all at once.  
Harry opens his arms as an invitation, all shiny and beautiful under the shower spray; Louis instantly melts into his embrace. And yeah, who cares if the shower is way too small? Louis is soft and warm and close and that's all that matters now, huddled up next to him in the shitty bathroom, surrounded by blossoming and cambering steam that rises like fog all around them. His eyes may be puffy from tears, and the world may be falling to shit all around them.  
But right now, right here, in this bathtub, they're invincible. Shielded.  
Like nothing on Earth can push them apart.  
Harry breaks the peace by pressing a firm kiss square on Louis' forehead, his fingertips lingering on Louis' chin, eyes fluttering shut.  
“Turn around.”  
Louis complies, even if a part of him wishes to ask. He's too exhausted to right now, and as Harry's wet hands skirt up his back he soon feels like he's forgotten all opposition-- fingertips massaging slow, steady circles into his back and shoulders, warm water trickling down his skin.  
It feels like the best thing in the world-- which is why, after five minutes of this action, he lets out a loud whine when he feels Harrys hands detach from his back and move up to his hair. But he's yet to complain--- the feeling instantly making Louis arch backwards, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as Harry raises sudsy fingertips and gently grinds them along his scalp. It's harmonious, and it's gentle, and it almost renders Louis breathless at the intimacy of the act.  
Breathless because it's so close, so warm, so tender.  
Breathless because he's never felt this close to anyone, never been shown this much care, never met someone so gentle and attentive in his entire life.  
Breathless because Harry. Just Harry.  
The only word he speaks to Louis during the entire thing is when he's finished-- murmuring a quiet “back” when it's time for Louis to tilt his head back and have the spray wash the rest of the suds down his shoulders and onto the bathtub floor. It's not much, but it's enough, and for a moment everything else in the world blurs out.  
When he's all rinsed out, he turns around and put his arms around Harry's middle, beginning to press open-mouthed kisses along Harry's neck and jaw, slowly but steadily making his way to Harry's mouth. When he gets there, he kisses him deep and intently, and it causes Harry to emit both a surprised moan and a step backwards.  
Louis finds himself being pushed back. He looks up at Harry, eyes wide, as Harry holds him with a hand on either side of his face and sends him a questioning look.  
“I just want to forget for a while. Is that okay?” Louis says, hesitantly, voice quiet and fragile.  
Harry simply nods and brings Louis close once again, letting him resume his exploration.  
Louis makes it personal mission to kiss every single inch of Harry's upper body until he reaches his cock, falling to his knees, hands resting on either side of his hipbones. He closes his eyes as he tries to take Harry whole, fingertips clenched tight on Harry's skin, but fails continuously-- that is, until Harry's legs begin to shake.  
Harry grabs Louis' chin.  
“Baby, if you want me to fuck you, you're gonna have to stop, I'm twenty seconds away from coming in your hair.” He says, breathlessly, chest movements laboured.  
Louis looks up at him through parted eyelashes before pulling away, lips leaving Harry’s length with a ‘pop’ that resonates and ricochets from the shower walls like a balloon trodden on. As he continues to stroke Harry lazily from where he squats, he almost considers it, but quickly changes his mind--- rising to kiss Harry against the shower wall, hands on either side of his shoulders.  
Harry is quick to reciprocate-- sliding his tongue into Louis’ mouth, turning them so that Louis’ back is flat against the shower wall, kissing him deeply. He’s so enamoured by Louis, in fact, that he barely notices the humming coming from Louis’ throat until he pulls back and realizes what’s happening.  
He looks down. The hand that Louis hasn’t placed on Harry’s shoulder is between his own legs, entering himself, rousing tiny puffs of breath to leave his lips. Harry watches the movement for a few moments, eyes wide, before moving his hands down to join in.  
“Patience, Harold.” Louis teases, batting his hands away and moving to kiss him once more. “I wouldn't want you to get all worked up before getting the job done.”  
Harry grunts as Louis presses him up against the shower curtain, continuing to deeply kiss at him, eyelashes tight shut as the water continues to pour over them. Soon enough, Louis tugs them back towards the wall, lifts himself around Harry’s middle-- climbing him almost like a jungle gym-- and stops touching himself long enough to cling around Harry’s neck and continue to kiss him there.  
“Fucking finally.” Harry murmurs, as he enters Louis, close and tight from where he’s holding Louis steady against the wall.  
Soon enough, Louis' thighs burn from the position, but the pain is well welcome-- especially when Harry finds the right angle and pleasure spreads through Louis like a fucking forest fire. Harry gets the cue after a few seconds, Louis’ change of moaning pitch evidence enough to prove he’s hitting the right spot, and when he does, he bobs Louis up and down relentlessly until he comes between them.  
It’s a beautiful sight. Louis’ neck and chest are flushed completely as he contracts around Harry’s waist and shoulders, clutching onto him for dear life, ankles trembling as his orgasm takes full effect. As it does so, emotions rush through his head, and the radio’s music, barely audible under the roaring shower, suddenly becomes painstakingly loud to him.  
The lyrics burn holes into his chest.

Tell my mother,  
Tell my father  
I've done the best I can  
To make them realize  
This is my life  
I hope they understand  
I'm not angry, I'm just saying...  
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance

He is quick to put his head in the crook of Harry's neck, overwhelmed, and it's then that he starts sobbing.  
Harry ceases all movement instantly.  
“Don't stop.” Louis says, voice choked in a sob.  
“Baby, I--”  
“Please, please, please don't stop, I need this.” Louis cries, still hidden in Harry's neck.  
He doesn't want to feel empty yet. He's not ready to. He wants to keep the feeling as long as he can manage.  
He needs this.  
Harry removes one hand from Louis’ arse, still holding him, but uses his free hand to tug at Louis’ neck, urging Louis to look up at him. After a few moments, Louis complies, nodding with his eyes closed, getting the cue as he moves his back once again against the shower wall. His tears begin to fade into the stream of water, the side of his face leaning into the large expanse of Harry’s palm. His face is blotched red, his nose dipped pink from the crying. He takes centering breaths to calm himself down before opening his eyes.  
Harry is close, concerned, and deadly serious, a small frown on his face, looking at Louis intently through wet eyelashes. Louis smiles a little at that, before replacing his hands on either side of Harry’s neck, sniffling a little through the water.  
“I love you. Now fuck me.” Louis teases, his voice sounding nasal because of his stuffy nose.  
He’s trying to sound lighthearted and cheerful despite his plight, and even though he isn’t fooling anyone, Harry can tell he’s trying.  
“Yes Sir.”

**

A ray of sunshine, weak and feeble, tiptoes it’s way through the shitty hotel curtains and lands on Harry’s face. He flutters awake, eyelashes batting, and realizes that he’s two centimetres away from falling out of bed. He shuffles, almost methodically, over to the centre, careful not to wake Louis beside him, and removes a strand of Louis’ hair from his mouth. Their limbs are tangled above and below sheets, and Louis is so warm beside him, almost stuck to him as they lay there, cast golden by the frail morning light.  
It’s a thick moment of peace, one easy to slip into and curl up in, shattered only when Harry’s stomach rumbles and it dawns on him that they never got to eat anything the night before. The sound rouses Louis from sleep, all red-eyed and puffy, but at least smiling from where he’s curled up against Harry’s chest.  
“Good morning, Babycakes.” He mumbles, gruffly.  
“Hello.” Harry replies, stroking at Louis’ cheek, grinning softly from beside him.  
Louis looks at him for a second before wincing. “I reckon we should turn our phones on again.”  
The task takes two minutes tops, but soon enough, their phones are ringing and vibrating relentlessly. A stream of worried texts and messages from their bandmates, Sam, Ed and Harry's family.

 

3:25pm  
Z(ap): Oi, how did it go?

5:54pm  
Mophead: Soooo? Tell me. I'm dying man. Good or bad? Please just take a minute to text me a (hopefully) thumb up.

10:47pm  
Neil: If it was good news you would have told us by now. Shit, I'm sorry. Give me a call.

1:00am  
Loam: Now i'm really worried. Can I do anything?

1:03am  
Loam: I can totally send my mum to talk to them, you know.

1:06am  
Loam: After all, she went through the same thing not so long ago. Think about it.

Between the messages wishing them luck, then wanting to know how it went, and then steadily progressing from curious to worried, a bunch of texts stand out.

6:07 pm  
Lottie: How are you holding up?

7:10 pm  
Lottie: Don't ignore me shithead! It's a fucking war zone here.

7:15 pm  
Lottie: Sorry I just called and realised your phone is off. Not cool btw.

9:25 pm  
Lottie: The screaming and sobbing has stopped, fucking finally. I'm going in, wish me luck. The things I do for you, Jesus, you fucking pain in the arse.

9:25 pm  
Lottie: “Pun intended. Not sorry.”

9:32 pm  
Lottie: “Is it bad that I need liquid courage? Don't tell on me.”

11:20 pm  
Lottie: I'm exhausted. Don't give up hope, alright? Don't give up on them either. They'll come around, they just need time.

Louis reads every text out loud to Harry, who nods and smiles at the last one. Louis bites his lower lip, scratching his stubble with tired fingertips, eyes residing on the screen.  
Harry cocks his head. “What are you waiting for? Answer her, Lou.”  
“I don't know what to say.”  
“How about, ‘m’okay, don't worry’ for starters.”  
Louis complies.  
“She says mum calmed down. She wants to know if I want to come back and talk.”  
Harry itches his jaw. “Maybe you should go alone this time, I mean… Your mum is right, you should have a little time to talk it out as a family.”  
“You are part of my family, Haz.”  
“You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that.” Harry kisses him. “What I mean is that I think me being there will only put her on edge… And you don't need that. Unless, you need me there. Just say the word and I'll come with you.”

**

Louis ends up going alone, Harry staying behind in the hotel to tackle the mountain that is updating their friends on the situation. It feels weird going home alone, after what happened, and Louis almost feels like a stranger walking down the old, wiggly path that has accompanied so many years of his childhood life, passing the worn stone gnomes in the front garden, watching the wind chimes clatter and clink like not one day has passed since he turned thirteen. Like nothing has changed.  
Just from the way he feels once he reaches the door, he knows this isn’t the case.  
He stops on the doorstep, taking deep breaths. He considers, wholeheartedly, ringing the bell for a few moments.  
Fuck this shit. This is my home.  
He puts the key in the door with trembling hands.  
Calm down, Jesus.  
“Mum?” Louis calls out, from the hall, wiping his shoes on the mat and shutting the door behind him.  
“In here.” She calls back, voice lower than usual, probably from the crying and the screaming.  
He enters the kitchen with hesitant feet.  
She has her back to him, tiredly making a cup of tea. He says nothing as she places a cup in front of Louis and herself, seating on a stool in front of the kitchen counter.  
He stares at the cup of tea. “Where’s dad?”  
“He and Lottie took your brother and sisters to the playground.” She answers, matter of factly, avoiding his gaze.  
“That's nice.” Louis says, not really knowing where to go from here. He feels like he’s entered the fucking Lion's den all of sudden.  
No.  
NoNoNoNoNo.  
This is his mother. She carried him for 9 whole months. She protected him and cared for him all his life. She was there for every important step of his life, from his first to his rise to fame.  
He won't let her miss this next step of his life.  
He won’t.  
“So.” Louis says.  
“So.”  
“Where do we go from here?”  
“You sprung this on us out of nowhere, I think I'm entitled to be shocked, aren't I?” She says, a little too shortly for Louis' liking.  
“Yes, you are.”  
She nods, hands cold on her cup, blowing at her tea with a hard face.  
“I'm still your son, mum.” Louis says, in a murmur, taking his cup of tea and watching the bubbles swirl.  
“You are, baby.” She says, decisively. “But that doesn't mean I support the lifestyle you choose for yourself.”  
“Being gay is not a lifestyle, mum.”  
“You said you’ve always been like this. But it's not true. Unless you’ve lied to me your whole life? You had girlfriends! I'm not making this up, am I?”  
“No, you're not. I tried, mum. I tried to like girls and make it work, you know?” Louis sighs. “But deep down I knew that there was something missing, a void any of them could fill.”  
She looks betrayed, somehow, by his statement, eyes lowering, lips sinking to her cup.  
“I keep thinking that I failed at motherhood somehow.” She says, voice quiet, shaking her head. “Like maybe I should have done something different, maybe if your dad didn't leave--”  
“First of all, that deadbeat is not my father, Mark is. And second, Mum, come on! There's not anything you could have done, I would still have turned up gay!” Louis feels tears on the horizon. “I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings, or your values, or whatever. It's not against you. It's about me, accepting myself and wanting to be happy.”  
“You were happy! That's nonsense! What changed all of a sudden?”  
Louis looks at her. “I fell in love with someone who happens to be a boy.”  
Her face gets hard again. “I don't want to talk about him.”  
“Mum, come on! You love Harry! You knew he was gay, don't tell me you don't anymore just because we live together!”  
“What?” She's furious in seconds. “Is there anything else you’d like to spring on me, Louis? Anything else you’ve been lying about?”  
“Shit.” Louis stares at his tea.  
“It's a mistake, Louis. I love you but I can't support this. I can't. You're asking too much of me.”  
“Mum. Please.” Louis feels tears overspill from his eyes. “I'm about to take the biggest step I’ve ever taken in my life. Harry and I are coming out of the closet publicly, and I want you there with me, like you always have been, just beside me. I need you.”  
She's crying too, now, repeating in a frantic mantra--- “No, no, this is not happening, it's impossible, it's impossible, nononono---”  
And then, he's the one getting impatient. “Stop it! You can't wish away the gay!”  
“We'll get you counselling, treatment. I don't know.” She says, not listening to a single word.  
“I'm not sick, mum!”  
She falls silent, shaking her head like some kind of a mad woman. And it breaks Louis' heart to see her like this---paralyzed with the fear of the unknown, clinging onto every last bit of certainty she ever had about her son. Looking at him like he was a stranger.  
“You can't abandon me too.” Louis suddenly caves, voice cracking, head shaking as tears drip onto his lap.  
As soon as the words are out, there’s no way he can rein them back in, and they repeat themselves again and again in his head until he finds himself sobbing loudly over his tea. She looks up at him, wide eyed and alarmed, and hugs him as tight as she possibly can. They cry silently together for a long time, sniffling and wailing, only broken when Jay brushes her fingertips over Louis’ hair and lets out a slow sigh.  
“I need time, Boo.” She says, ever-so-quietly. “I need time.”

**

So nothing is resolved.  
But at least they left on a kind of hopeful note. Or, at least, that’s what Louis thinks.  
Kind of.  
He leaves Jay in a state better, at least, than the night before, and when he says his goodbyes, Lottie promises to keep him updated and to play the gay's advocate while he finishes his touring. Louis tries to focus on that as something positive, at least.  
Mark hugs him awkwardly goodbye. Not getting the chance to talk it out with him, Louis feels too exhausted to even try.

**

The next few shows in Sheffield are a blur of catching up with the band, whispered encouragements and just plain HarryandLouisareattachedbythehip TM.  
Louis has never felt more cuddled in his life as a 1D member. Literally, the rest of the band are everywhere all the time. No smoke break goes without Liam or Zayn following him closely. He hasn’t even begun to ask if the lads want to play Fifa before all hands are in the air. Even Sam has been extra teasing with him after he got creeped out by too much niceness (“Stop it Sam, the Stepford Wives act is giving me the creeps”) but Louis gets suspicious when Niall Fucking Horan starts asking for guitar advice. And he definitely draws the line when Liam wants to accompany him to the toilet. “No way Tinkle Ray, I want my trousers to stay dry” is his only answer and Liam is offended a whole two minutes before resuming his supportive attitude.  
Louis even accepts his offer to organise a conversation between their mothers in an attempt to appease him.  
And Harry.  
Well, Harry is plain wonderful during this time. Not like he’s not wonderful all the fucking time, or anything, but during this time he’s just----warm and close and cuddly and touchy and just “there”. It’s just that he seems to know that Louis needs him right now, seems to sense it beyond what Louis says or does. And he does.  
He needs them all in fact: their love and their support. And Louis wouldn’t put it past Harry to have briefed them all beforehand, and that all this---whatever this is--- is being quietly orchestrated behind the scene by the -not-so-cherruby Harry Styles.  
It’s almost weird. Harry’s grown, Louis can just feel it-- and with each and every guided touch, smile, and embrace it’s reiterated to him. It’s not even just the big things that show it. It’s the way Harry nods at him every now and again to offer silent support, it’s the look of serenity he wears now that convince Louis little by little that everything is going to be okay, and, more importantly, it’s the way he makes Louis feel. Like he can be relied upon. Like he’s safe.  
Like for once, Louis has someone fighting in his corner, constantly on his side.  
And it’s nice. It’s fucking nice. Nicer that he would have thought it would be.  
It’s so nice, in fact, that he almost forgets that he’s not out of the woods yet.  
He’s come a long way, that’s for sure, but he still has a long way to go, and this point is reiterated the second he sees a notification pop up on his private Facebook.  
“Ginger Bread has suggested you added Stewart Robinson as a friend.”  
After that, it’s really just a weird coincidence that Louis needs some breathing room. And that he’s a little suffocated by the constant presence of his friends and boyfriend.  
I can’t even hear myself think.  
But he’s not an ungrateful fucker, and sees that they’re doing it for him, so he shuts his mouth.  
Despite his vocal veto against the name, “Operation free sparrows” is slowly but surely shaping up between shows--- every chance the band gets. It gives them something to focus on, Louis supposes. The illusion of having a grasp on something. Lord knows they feel helpless when it comes to Louis’ family.  
This may be the worst idea in the history of worst ideas. At least, that’s what Louis hopes Liam and Zayn are gonna say. It would counteract the excitement of Harry and Niall explaining the brilliant plan they came up with, that’s for sure.  
But Zayn is thrilled and Liam is practically beaming. Which, if Louis is going to be honest, sucks ass.  
So maybe in theory, the idea is not so bad, he’ll give them that.  
Simon’s idea of gradually seeding Harry as gay was not bad at all, actually, Harry decided. So why not steal the ground under Simon’s feet by seeding them both at the same time? It’s brilliant. Harry thinks it’s very clever, even. By seeding them both at the same time, they force Simon’s hand, because people will automatically think “Larry” and it’ll be impossible to distance them from each other. Or get the idea out of the public’s heads.  
Harry is very intent on using every opportunity he can get in this-- mostly live interviews with friendly anchormen and closeness at shows where no one can do shit about it-- and he’s also very intent on starting it with a bang. How about that.  
Fucking great. It’s just great. Louis is totally on board with that. A hundred percent on board.  
Why wouldn't I be? It’s brilliant.  
The answer is lurking at the back of his head. Because in the middle of all the planning and mapping and strategizing, Sam did something that triggered Louis without even realising it. It was all part of the ‘supporting Louis’ act-- (although it’s not an act and that.. that makes things even worse)-- something that rang every alarm bell that been quietly silenced for the better part of the last year.  
Something that threatens to send Louis running for the hills.  
“I can’t wait, Lou. Can you imagine the positive influence you’ll have on the LGBT youth? Can you possibly grasp how historic what you’re both about to do is?”  
Fuck.  
FuckFuckFuck.  
A role model. Coming out will make him a fucking role model. Someone that people look up to and turn to for guidance.  
Him.  
A bully.

**  
It's cold in the hotel after the last Sheffield show, the air causing shivers to ripple up skin and rustle goosebumps across shoulder blades. It's the type of weather that makes Sam want to bury herself underneath layers upon layers of covers--- but she's laid on the sofa right now and can't be bothered to move. She remains still in leisurely silence for a while, eyes closing, mind steadily settling into tranquillity--- that is, until Niall comes out of the bedroom with a slant in his step and a grin on his face.  
Sam jolts up so suddenly she feels like she's broken a bone. “What the actual fuck are on your face?”  
“Glasses.” Niall looks smug, wiggling his eyebrows as he pushes the bridge of the glasses back.  
Sam raises her eyebrows, sceptical. “Chick magnets, you mean.”  
Niall huffs at her.  
“Like I don’t have enough things to worry about as it is.” Sam reasons, out loud.  
“Like what?”  
She blinks at him. “Like you in designer suits. Like, do you want me to jump you on a red carpet, Niall? No.”  
Niall smiles cheekily then, grin increasing as she walks over to him with her hands on her hips. “But I like them.”  
It's then that her hands dart out and she steals them from his nose, sliding them on her own and running away. He chases after her, but she's quick. As she passes the coat hanger in the bedroom, she grabs something from the mass array of clothing, and throws it at him.  
“Here, you can wear the ugly hat, wear the ugly hat instead!”  
He grabs her by the waist. She turns around, putting the hat on his head and trying to keep herself from giggling.  
“I like them on you, too. You look hot.” Niall says, and she wiggles her eyebrows at him.  
“No I don’t, but let’s say I do.”  
She crosses her eyes then, takes a step back for effect, and does her best impression of Edna Mode from the Incredibles.  
“I never look back, darling, it distracts from the now.”  
Then, she giggles and turns around to grab her camera.  
Little does she know that Niall is wide eyed, completely in awe right now.  
Little does she know what crosses Niall's mind in this moment.  
Little does she know that Niall’s heart is threatening to explode any minute, picturing the picket fence, the kids, the whole shabang with her.  
Shit, this is it.  
When she turns around, she’s startled to find him on one knee.  
“Samantha Norton--” He begins.  
“No no no no no.” She pleads, wide eyed, half slumped in grabbing his arm-- anything to urge him to get up. “Stand up, stand up, no no no, please, no, no.”  
He gets up, and takes both her hands in his, completely ignoring her pleas. “You make my life so much harder, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”  
“No no no no no.” She’s almost chanting now, very panicky, avoiding eye contact.  
“I want to be with you forever, Sam. Why can’t forever begin now?” He says, very serious locking eyes with her.  
“Is this because I 'm going back to school, Ni?” Sam says, voice shaky.  
“Wh--?” Niall looks confused.  
“I'm twenty years old Niall! I can’t even drink in America! This is completely insane, even for you.”  
His hands go slack.  
“Are you saying no?” His brows are furrowed.  
“First of all you haven’t asked me anything--”  
He goes to say something but she shushes him with trembling fingertips.  
“Second of all, I’m not saying ‘no’.” She looks at him, jaw trembling. “I’m saying ‘not yet’.”  
Niall’s mouth becomes a small line before he steps back, wordlessly, before leaving the room and slamming the door.  
Sam sleeps alone in her own childhood bed for the first time in ages and cries herself to sleep.

**

They have two days home before doing some promo and resuming the tour. It’s good to be in the familiarity of his own home, Harry thinks. Even for a short period of time. He loves being on the road as much as the next popstar, but being back home, surrounded by the familiar smells and his own bed, is quite nice. In fact, it’s more than nice.  
Nothing could ever compare to it.  
The brass candle holders, the fluffy rugs, the polished banisters. The clink of the coffee cups as he hauls them out of the cupboard, the whoosh of the dust rising as he unearths his laptop from under his bed. The twinkling of the chandelier as it flutters to life after what feels like forever-- the creak of that one board in the hallway that he’ll never get around to having fixed. Yeah, sure, he could probably afford perfect-- he’s not ever going to deny that-- but this, right here, this unconventional beauty of home, is more of a safehouse than something perfect would ever be.  
And he loves it. He loves this.  
Nothing could ruin the contentment he feels right now, buzzing beneath his fingertips, sizzling in his stomach and flaring his cheeks. Or so he thinks.  
It’s after he tells the plan to his sister over the phone that Louis decides to drop a huge, whopping shitstorm of a bombshell all over Harry’s perfect little bubble.  
“So I’ve been thinking… maybe we should wait. It’s only a year and a half, after all.”  
Harry’s shoulders instantly go slack, the fuzzy feeling being drenched in ice cold water. “I can’t believe you’re saying this.”  
Louis sighs dramatically, fingers on the bridge of his nose, trying to chase away the headache threatening to burst in his skull any minute now.  
When Louis doesn’t expand, Harry presses the issue, getting more and more annoyed by the second.  
“What is this about? We’ve talked about this. Is this just cold feet because you’re nervous or are you genuinely rethinking everything? Is it about your family?”  
“No. I just don’t want to jeopardise the future of the band, that’s all.” Louis lies, avoiding eye contact.  
“This is such bullshit.” Harry laughs. But it’s bitter.  
“You’re an idealist. It’s sweet, and I love you for it but we can’t be irresponsible about this.”  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Stop patronizing me. Don’t play the fucking martyr when everyone's already given us their blessing! Tell me the bloody truth.”  
Louis is silent.  
“Talk to me, please.”  
Louis is looking at his foot right now, face guilty.  
“Tell me what’s stopped you,all of a sudden?”  
Dead silence.  
Harry clenches his hands on the duvet and shakes his head before storming out, very frustrated, tears pooling in his eyes, hands in front of his face like shields from the paparazzi as he pushes the door open and walks into the hallway. He barely notices Louis running to follow him, barely sees the look of panic that washes across his face once he realizes the words that slipped from his mouth, only feels company once Louis grabs him by the arm and tries to halt his egressing movements.  
“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Louis says, a lot softer. “I’m sorry, I’m so bad at this.”  
Harry pushes Louis’ hand away, struggling to hide the redness of his face as he turns away from him, bottom lip incessantly wavering.  
“I know you’ve been through a lot, Lou. And that shit made you closed off, or whatever.” Harry says, sniffing. “But do you know how much damage your path to self discovery did on me? How much shit I’ve been through for you, for us?” He stammers, angry, slow tears finally dripping down onto his cheeks and streaking down the red of his face and neck. “Do you have any idea? You can’t keep pushing me away like this.”  
“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” Louis puts his hand on Harry’s arm again.  
Harry’s lip continues to waver, frail and puffy. “No! NO! I’ve gone through hell and back for you. I loved you for the both of us for years, so don’t talk to me about responsibility. I knew I had to carry all of this alone for a while. I knew it was all worth it in the end. I knew it was meant to be. I knew. I knew.”  
By the end of his little ramble, Harry is teary and weak and chewing at his lips, trying feebly to tug shirt sleeves over his knuckles to wipe his own tears away. Eventually, Louis can’t even look at him anymore, because it does things to him.  
(It fucking breaks his heart in two, that’s what it does.)  
And so he soon finds himself caving; engulfing Harry close in his arms, letting him sob uncontrollably into his neck, stroking gentle fingertips across his back and shoulders.  
“I know there’s a million reasons not to come out and only one to do so.” Harry says, gasping between sobs, holding Louis so tight that he can’t help but feel Harry take in a breath across the silence-- hope and sadness bundled up into the air all at once.  
“It's the most important one, though.”  
Louis is quick to reply. “Be true to ourselves.”

**

The night is quiet and cuddly-- spent close and intimate, the air filled with words not said yet understood. At the peak of it, they end up laid on their sides facing each other in bed, Harry hugging a pillow beneath his head in the moonlight, Louis tracing his fingers up and down Harry’s heart tattoo, neither one eager to sleep. Louis simply can’t stop looking at him---- meeting those green eyes, extremely pale and intense next to the dark shadow cutting across the left side of Harry’s face, so quick to glance away, often accompanied with a small smile or a gentle blush each time Louis reaches out to him.  
He’s so, so, so beautiful-- almost impossible not to love in the whispery dark, shining bright even with the room’s faint lighting casting pathetic slivers of glow across his face. Louis literally can’t stop himself from reaching out and touching him every once in awhile-- feeling warmth beneath the palm of his hand, seeing that beauty squirm and smile under his fingertips, pressing murmured promises against intertwined hands and naked, sunny skin printed above ink.  
And yeah, Harry seems to be in a much better mood than he was before-- a little withdrawn, but still, feeling and acting a lot more at peace than he was prior to the argument. Louis keeps fluttering to the back of his hand, soothing him, laying all doubts to rest and making him smile every now and then. And why shouldn’t they? Things are good.  
In fact, things are almost perfect in this moment.  
From across the pillows, Louis is at war with himself, batting away his doubts and pushing them to the back of his mind all at once. There’s no room for doubt in this. Because Harry deserves this.  
(For himself, he's not so sure he could say the same.)  
“I love you.” Louis murmurs, removing a strand of hair from Harry’s forehead.  
He’s not the best with words, so he tries to convey how he feels through touch instead, skirting fingertips delicately across Harry’s cheek, trying to put as much love as he can in his actions in the hopes that it’ll unblock the lump in his throat and make Harry understand.  
I do.  
Louis’ fingertips linger at Harry’s cheek for a few moments, careful and attentive, before travelling down to his shoulder and brushing over the tattoos resting there for a few moments. He looks at them, looks at Harry.  
Hopes he understands.  
I really, really, fucking love you.  
“I know.” Harry answers, no more than a whisper. “I love you back.”  
You deserve the world.  
“Can I ask you something?” Louis says, a little hesitant, dropping his hand from Harry’s shoulder and skirting his touch down his arm instead.  
Hell, you deserve the fucking stars.  
“Anything.” Harry says, his eyes closed, voice wrung quiet with sleep.  
I wish I could give it all to you.  
“When you say you always knew… I mean... Did you, really, always?” Louis asks, genuinely curious.  
Harry smiles privately, eyes still closed.  
“From the moment I laid eyes on you.” He muses. “An angel fallen from the sky.”  
“Love at first pee. Wow.” Louis huffs, but his eyes are fond.  
“Nice, but no. I noticed you before that. Actually, I followed you into the toilets.”  
“That sounds borderline stalkerish.” Louis says, grinning, images of a tiny, bundle of curls running through his mind. Sixteen year old Harry in all of his sheepish, blundering glory.  
Harry just shrugs. “It worked, so...”  
“Good thing you did follow me in, though.” Louis grins. “If you hadn’t, I may have fallen in love with Liam.”  
“Ew.” Harry shakes his head, trying to shake off the mental image. “Thank God fate got in the way of that.”  
Louis grins wider. “But seriously. Bowl cut and all, you just loved me, just like that?”  
Harry smiles big, opening one eye to point at him accusingly over the pillows.  
“Okay I know you’re fishing -- you don’t fool me, mister-- but I’ll humour you.” He huffs. “I loved you with the floppy fringe, the sophisticated quiff, the hot cinnamon bun and even with that horrendous horrendous moustache you sported for like a week. But it cost me, just so you know.”  
Louis pokes him in the ribs, pouting as Harry cackles beside him.  
“How about you, Boo?” Harry wiggles his eyebrows. “When did you know?”  
“I’m not sure.” Louis says, before moving and settling right on top of Harry, noses nudging close to one another.  
Harry’s hands instinctively raise to Louis’ lower back, gently holding, watching him through partly opened eyelids. Louis looks so beautiful right now-- fluttering eyelashes giving way to vividly pale eyes, bright contrasting the dark of the room, the shadows flickering over his chin and neck making the bob of his Adam’s Apple stand out and Harry’s heartbeat raise. Because he is beautiful, really-- Harry’s never going to deny that--- and the fact that he’s here, right now, this close to Harry, is a wonder in it’s own.  
“The only thing I know for sure is that I’m never letting go of this feeling.” Louis whispers, before kissing him, sweet and slow, hands pressed on either side of Harry’s face.  
He continues this until a moan escapes Harry, fingers slipping from skin to hair. Harry lets out a deep groan and raises his chin as Louis holds him close, gently beginning to rock his ass against Harry’s crotch, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.  
“Hello there.” Louis huffs, referring to Harry’s growing erection against his ass, the thin fabric of their boxers still separating them.  
But Harry is no mood to joke as he pushes Louis legs so he can remove Louis’ boxers, then his own, and feel that perfect ass on his middle as soon as possible.  
“What now?” Louis asks, a lot more serious now.  
“Now, I’m going to fuck you until you remember the exact moment you fell in love with me.” Harry says, semi serious.  
“Game on.”  
Harry slowly lifts two fingers to his mouth, making eye contact with Louis the whole time, before trailing them across his thigh and up to where his crack lies. Louis instantly whimpers at the touch, his sensitive spot becoming even more so as Harry explores it with wetted fingertips, his back involuntarily arching as he feels Harry glide his touch back and forth over his hole.  
Yet, he doesn’t break eye contact. A part of him wants to as Harry slips one finger inside of him and he can feel the cold texture of one of his rings against the warmth of his ass, but he doesn’t. He stares right into those green eyes even as Harry begins to slip his fingers continuously in and out, coaxing strangled moans and whispers from Louis’ mouth, watching as he grunts and shivers with each twist and pulse Harry’s fingers make inside of him.  
Harry slips a second finger in. “Do you remember it now?”  
Louis whimpers, eyes closing, panting breath escaping his lips. “Aaaah, it was the first time we kissed, under that lamp post.”  
Harry smiles. Louis is obviously lost in pleasure right now, cheeks flushed red, eyes shut, bottom lip wavering to and fro.  
And so he adds a third finger. “Are you sure?”  
Louis’ loud breathing cuts through the quiet of the room, thick and laboured, increasing Louis’ grip on either side of Harry’s face and causing all of the heat in him to sink downwards.  
“No. No.” Louis pants. “I--I remember now. It was the first time you put your perfect lips on my dick. God, I loved you then.”  
“I bet.”  
Harry removes all three of his fingers before reaching for his own cock, gently pumping, watching Louis curiously as he comes down from the high, face still red, hands still clutched to Harry’s face. He’s still watching Louis’ face when he presses his cock into him, a mild manner of curiosity latched on his features, but the show is soon taken away when Louis lets out a thick whimper and buries his face into the crook of his neck.  
“God, no. It was-- It was when we saw New York together for the first time.” He says, as Harry begins to rock his hips up.  
His face is stuck in the crook of Harry’s neck as they slowly begin to rock their hips together, Harry letting out the odd deep groan, Louis whimpering and panting almost incessantly at the feeling. Eventually, he tries to rise to sit on Harry’s lap, but Harry doesn’t allow it.  
“Stay close.” He murmurs.  
Louis nods and sinks back into the crook of Harry’s neck, hair sweaty, heart rate increasing with each rhythmic thrust slapped into him.  
“I changed my mind. It’s when we went skydiving, or when we rode on the ferris wheel. Either or.” He gasps. “Only you can make me feel like I’m flying all the fucking time.”  
Harry holds him tighter for it, fingertips digging into skin, before letting out a thick groan as Louis begins to fuck him back, hips grinding down onto him, vision becoming a blur as he feels his release building up at the back of his spine. Louis is quick to follow, riding out on Harry with his face still buried, trembling and moaning as he comes down from his high and empties his release right on top of the butterfly on Harry’s chest.  
“You know what?” Louis asks, voice no more than a whisper, perking up a little to look at Harry.  
“Mmh?” Harry answers, eyes shut, beginning to drift off to sleep.  
“I loved you when we wrote ‘Just A Kiss’ for Ed. I didn’t want to. But I did.”  
Harry smiles, eyes still closed, and hugs him a little tighter.

 

**

Nick, as it turns out, is absolutely thrilled to being a key actor in “Operation free sparrows”. Frankly, he’s quite excited. And Harry, well---  
Harry looks like a kid about to steal in a candy store, mischievous and flushed with adrenaline.  
So beautiful Louis could cry.  
“It’s going to be epic! We’re going to break the internet.” Nick claps his hands together.  
Louis feels like he’s going to be sick any minute now, stomach jumbling, panic crackling like fireworks beneath his skin. Harry keeps drawing soothing circles in Louis’ hand with his thumb.  
The plan is precise, and simple, but he’s never really been good with following instructions, much less with dealing with pressure-- the peak of his anxiety rearing it’s ugly head when he throws up just before going on air. Harry hands him a bottle of water and pats his cheeks, obviously worried.  
“Hey, are you okay?”  
“I’m fine, baby.” Louis dismisses, cheeks sallow.  
Liam keeps throwing him curious glances from across the room. If they’re meant to be comforting, they’re not.  
They’re annoying, that’s what they are.  
“Are you ready?” Harry asks.  
Louis nods.  
“Come on then, showtime.” Harry looks ready.

**

Nick starts the interview with easy enough questions and Louis is quiet through most of them.  
What is the best gift you ever received from a fan?/ Are you planning on getting band tattoos anytime soon?/ What do you do when you have free time?  
What did you miss the most while touring the world?  
“My mum.” Liam answers, easily “Like, you know, we’ve practically lived out of suitcases for years now, and sometimes, you just want to enjoy you mum’s cooking and chill out.”  
“I bet she’s happy you've returned to the UK now.” Nick says.  
“She’s been non stop crying for days now.” Liam deadpans.  
They laugh.  
Nick smiles. “Awww. Liam is a mummy’s boy!”  
“I am. I mean, I don’t enjoy seeing her cry, don’t get me wrong! Louis is the true mummy’s boy.” Liam smiles, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes the heaviness of his words and his eyes go wider than saucers.  
“Is this true, Louis? Have you made your mummy cry a lot too lately?”  
Louis’ stomach does a backflip. He knows it’s just banter. He knows Nick doesn’t mean anything by it. He knows he’s supposed to answer some clever shit, but the words get stuck in his throat. All he can think about is his mum now. Because surely she’s listening. Louis imagines her in the kitchen, fixing breakfast for his siblings, with no care in the world. Singing like she always does when she cooks.  
Soon enough they move to other topics, but Louis is white as a sheet, a heart for a throat. The image of his mother is stuck tight in his head, making his throat dry, weighing his conscience down to his stomach.  
“What is the weirdest thing someone thrown at you on stage?” Nick asks.  
“We get hit with the weirdest stuff, man.” Niall says. “Girls used to throw their underwear at me, you know.”  
“Someone actually threw their Iphone at me the other day.” Zayn says. “Thanks, man. Although there were some disturbing pics on there.”  
It earns him a round of cackles.  
Here we go.  
“Someone threw a dildo at Harry once.” Niall says.  
Louis is supposed to say “it’s hardly the first time, babe.” now.  
But somehow, the words get stuck in his throat once more. Harry is casting him curious glances, glances that Louis ignores, so Nick, professional as he is, interjects and saves Louis.  
“It’s hardly the first time, Haz.”  
Harry laughs awkwardly.  
Nick sends a questioning look towards Louis, who looks a little lost, their manager mouthing “cut it out” at Nick from beside them.  
Harry was supposed to answer Louis cheekily. Something that could be easily plausibly denied and interpreted as banter, but would put them in the headlines for sure.  
Since Nick took over Louis’ part, Harry wants to get the conversation back to Louis, so he says ---“I mean yeah, Lo--”  
But as he’s about to say Louis’ name, Louis shakes his head frantically, wide eyed.  
Harry looks at him, eyebrows tangled together, speech derailing.“Ummm, yeah, we get thrown out weird stuff.”  
Things are awkward after that. In fact, if it weren’t for Nick, it would be a total disaster. He makes an attempt at defusing the tension by looking at Twitter questions.  
Louis is avoiding making eye contact with Harry, and it’s annoying him to no end.  
“Kim wants to know your type. Oh be original, Kim, for god’s sake, they’re tired of--” Nick begins but Harry cuts him short.  
“I like someone who’s genuine.” Harry interrupts, looking right at Louis, smile gone now. “Someone who doesn’t jerk you around and who you can rely on.”  
Louis is visibly shaken by Harry’s words, glancing down at the floor.  
But it still doesn’t stop them from entering his head.  
“Someone who knows what they want and don’t apologise for who they are.”

**

So Louis chickened out. To the first “easy” step of the plan at that. And if he can’t even do that, how the hell is he supposed to come out?  
This is Harry’s train of thought as he drives them home, looking through the window, uncharacteristically quiet in the driver’s seat. He lets out a sigh and Louis stirs from beside him.  
“Alright, let me have it.” Louis says, defeated.  
“You chickened out and completely blindsided me. I can’t believe you, Lou! You said no more secrets.”  
“I know.”  
“You said no more lies.”  
“I know, I know.”  
“You said you wanted this.”  
“Then why did it feel like some kind of test that I failed, then?” Louis bites.  
When the car is parked and they’re both in the living room, both tense and frustrated, Harry simply says:-  
“I am not testing you. You’re not being truthful and expecting me to read your fucking mind, and that’s bloody unfair to me.”

**

They’re getting absolutely nowhere with the conversation. So Harry decides to leave; get some fresh air in his lungs and calm in his heart. He was this close to saying something he was going to regret too, so it’s probably for the best.  
In fact, Harry leaves just in time to miss Sam showing up on their doorstep. She came over not being able to cope one more day without talking to someone. After she spilled the beans about what happened with Niall, Sam looks more and more like an ideal choice to rant about annoying other halves to Louis.  
They’re more talking out loud at each other than talking to each other, pacing the living room; crossing paths and ranting aloud.  
“I can't believe these romantics!” Louis grunts.  
“Oh, let's get married, Sam!” Sam says, imitating Niall, crossing her arms.  
“Oh let's come out, Louis!” Louis nods in agreement.  
“Who cares if you’re still in school and we’re practically kids, right?”  
“Who cares if your family doesn’t support it?”  
“Let’s be stupid and do this spur of the moment thing that’ll tie us for the rest of our lives.”  
“Let’s come out recklessly and be sued for what we’re worth!”  
“Have your face plastered everywhere with headlines accusing you of breaking the heart of hundred of thousands girls, that’s rich!”  
“Be the fucking role model for every confused kid on the planet! That’s not too much of a responsibility, right? No, mind you! Dust under the rug!”  
Sam stops her pacing now.  
“That would be so awesome though, with your story and all…”  
“And you would make a wonderful mother to half a dozen semi-blond semi-irish kids, so what?”  
Sam sits down and Louis joins her, suddenly slack, exhaustion settling in as she puts her head on his shoulder and lets out a deep sigh.  
“It was not a proper proposal, though, just so you know.” She murmurs. “It was more of a fauxposal.”  
“Was he devastated when you said no? The bugger didn’t say anything.”  
Sam bites her lip.  
“Yeah. I mean, he left, and I didn’t see him since. He doesn’t answer my calls or texts. I even went home to my parents.” Sam sighs. “What if he breaks up with me over this, Louis?”  
“He would never.” Louis shakes his head, absolute. “You just wounded his pride, he’ll get over it.”  
She nods, but she doesn’t look convinced.  
Louis clasps his hands. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a beautiful bride.”  
“Shut up.” Sam nudges him, before falling quiet once more. “Can I tell you a secret and you promise you won’t tell a soul?”  
“Pinky swear.”  
“I’m scared that he didn’t really mean it.” Sam says, fiddling with her sleeve. “What if it was just a heat of the moment thing, and he’s just going to regret it?”  
“Full disclosure?” Louis raises his eyebrows. “The proposal. It was planned. I knew about it. He told me.”  
Sam is stunned. “That doesn’t make sense! There was no ring! It’s impossible!”  
“I’m telling you how it is, Sammy.”  
“Fuck.”  
“Fuck indeed.”  
“We’re too young. We’ve not been together long enough.” She’s just lost in thought for a moment after that. “Argh. You’re useless, Lou. I need Harry. Where did he go?”  
“I see that I’m no longer the gay best friend of choice here, thanks Sam.” Louis deadpans.  
She nudges him in the ribs.  
Louis puffs his cheeks. “He left. Pretty pissed, too.”  
“We make quite the pair.”  
“We’ll see them soon enough, because you--” he points at her-- “Are accompanying me to the BBC Music Awards tonight, and you’re sorting this out with Ni.”

**

Harry doesn’t come back. He goes straight to the Awards where they’re scheduled to sing their first single--- “Steal my girl”. And the evening is uneventful as always-- a montage of hushed speeches and bright lights, media-trained folk brushing past each other, glammed up for the cameras. Despite Harry and Louis’ foul mood, it seems like nothing is out of the ordinary. Even Niall is his usual cheerful self until Louis informs him that Sam is going to join later.  
The after party, though, is another story altogether.  
Golden balloons. Fancy champagne. Silver confetti. Even the ceiling is doused in golden-painted leaves and strobe lighting, casting everything a flurry of white and yellow.  
Under the bright light’s incessant sheen, Sam looks ethereal. She’s wearing a tight silver dress, flowing out like a mermaid’s tail at the back and front, her hair flowing beneath her shoulders in loose, styled curls. All over her waist and shoulders lie silver-studded embellishments, forming tiny feathers along the fabric of the dress, making it appear like she’s about to fly away at any moment. (She fucking wishes she could.)  
Her eyelids are smoky, and in her hand is a drink--- God knows she needs it. She feels so out of place here-- feeling as much as a fish out of water as her mermaid tail-esque dress feels like it should belong in the sea. She really wasn’t going to come, but Louis talked her into it claiming that he needed moral support for the night. Cheap trick.  
Louis excuses himself to the bar as soon as they find Niall, allowing them to talk and hoping to God that they sort their shit out.  
“Hi.” She says to Niall, sad eyes appearing timid over her drink.  
“Hey.” Niall looks like a kicked puppy.  
“I’ve missed you.” She says, putting a tentative hand on his forearm.  
“Better get used to it. Getting your own place soon, after all.”  
Sam is really hurt by the statement, removing her hand as if she was burned.  
They’re soon interrupted.  
“Samantha Norton. I barely recognised you in that dress.”  
It’s a tall, broad man that speaks-- clad in a blue satin suit, with concave cheekbones that rest on skin pulled tight like a bolt of fine cloth. On top of them, lies a delicate, perfectly-manicured beard, hiding a unyielding obsidian jaw and lips drawn in a cruel smile. He’s smiling in this same way at Sam when he speaks, a glass of champagne held between heavily ringed fingers, Rasputin-blue eyes cold and as clear as a mountain stream. He’s around 25-- bold, enthralling, smug.  
All traits that Niall doesn’t like, especially when they belong to a guy looking at Sam that way.  
“Hey Nathan. Long time no see.” She says, voice small. Her shoulders almost shrink looking at him.  
Niall looks between them.  
“I heard you’re coming back on campus.” Nathan says.  
“Niall Horan.” Niall says, deciding that no, he doesn’t like being interrupted and no, he doesn’t like being ignored either. “And you are?”  
Sam looks like she’s gonna melt into the ground any minute now.  
“Nathan Brunski. I’m a teaching assistant at UAL and I do photo gigs on the side, like tonight.” Nathan says, proudly.  
“You two know each other from school?” Niall looks at Sam.  
“You could say that.” Nathan smirks.  
Niall doesn’t like cryptic answers. That’s something you really should know about him.  
“I heard you befriended a pop sensation and that you got a job out of it. It’s good to see that your special talents are intact.” Nathan remarks.  
The innuendo is barely veiled. He could be talking about photography. And somehow, Niall knows he’s not.  
“Fuck you, Nate.” She says, flustered and uncomfortable, face turning hard and taut.  
And then, Niall gets it.  
Nate, as in Nathan. Ex-boyfriend Nathan as in broke Sam’s heart into a million pieces Nathan. As in piece of trash Nathan.  
“I’m gonna get a drink.” Sam says, exiting the conversation.“Or ten.”  
Niall could follow her, but his curiosity is peaked and he doesn’t really want to talk to her, his pride being wounded and all. “So, how do you know Sam again?”  
“We had a fling back in the day. Nothing serious, really.” Nathan takes a sip of his champagne. “I had to end it when she got clingy, you know what I mean.”  
“I really don’t. Care to explain?” Niall says, trying to sound as casual as possible. But he’s already pissed.  
He may be pissed at her, but no one speaks about her like that. Not while he’s around.  
“Look I’m sure she says to everyone that she left school because of me, but I’m really not the one who started the rumours, you know--”  
“Wait--” Niall frowns. “What? What rumours?”  
“You know, that she slept her way through good grades.” Nathan grins, evidently sensing drama on the horizon. “But, in all fairness, it’s kind of true.”  
“Sam? Sam Norton? I think you had one too many, mate.”  
Sam? The girl who didn’t want anyone’s money? The same girl that was very reluctant to begin a relationship with him in the first place? The girl he trusts the most in the entire world?  
The girl who just refused to marry a multimillionaire.  
Oh. Oh.  
“Oh I’m, sure she’s done the same to you. Better enjoy it while it lasts. She’s very um, skilled-- don’t get me wrong, it was very mutually beneficial for a while, and she did get better grades for it, so---”  
And then, something in Niall’s head clicks.  
The next thing he knows, Nathan is on the floor, clutching his nose, whining and rolling over and over.  
Niall stands over him, livid. “If you ever approach her again or talk about her or even bat an eyelash in her direction, I will end you.”  
Sam was sipping her drink talking to Louis in the background, but is beside him in seconds when things get physical, urging him to calm down and looking on wide-eyed.  
When Niall throws the punch, Louis is behind him in immediately, restraining him.  
“You.” Louis points at Nathan. “Get lost.”  
Then Louis turns to Niall, who’s fuming and panting on the floor where Louis tackled him.  
“Do you have anger management issues, Ni?” Louis shouts. “First Wootton, now him?”  
“Fuck you Lou, you punched Oli!”  
“He was rude to my boy.” Louis says, offended, getting up.  
Niall stares at him.  
“Oh. I see your point. Carry on.”  
Niall attempts to get up from the floor, but soon Sam is straddling him there, a finger on his mouth. She looks so so beautiful, so in love, so amazed--- and before Niall knows it, she’s holding his face, kissing him in front of everybody.  
She pulls away, barely. “Thank you.”  
He gives her a crooked smile, gets up, and takes her hand.  
“Come on, let’s go home.”

**

Harry and Louis go home. They're carefully avoiding each other in the house, yet to talk again.  
Louis doesn’t even know anymore if he’s the one receiving the silent treatment, or if he’s the one giving it. The only thing he’s sure of is that he really can’t shake their last conversation out of his head.  
Harry is asking for honesty. He’s right. But Louis is not sure that Harry could handle the truth. How could he? Louis can barely handle it himself. He doesn’t know what to say, though. He doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want to tell the truth, either.  
They go to bed in silence, Harry tossing and turning, being clearly tipsy from the party not exactly helping matters. Louis, for the most part, tries to not fall into that trap and engage.  
It would have only ended badly if they talked in that state.  
So pretending to sleep, tired eyelids fluttering and staying shut, turns into actual sleeping before too long.  
️It's best this way, Louis tells himself.  
It's best this way.

**

The morning is wet and weeping, slaughtering moisture down onto the pavement outside and leaving everything dripping and pathetic-looking. When Louis wakes up, he's alone, and there's nothing that blocks him from hearing the rain crackle down onto the roof and trickle down the top floor windows. He watches it fall for a while, clutching onto Harry’s pillow and inhaling deeply.  
After a few minutes, energy rises up inside of him, and he gets up-- tossing the duvet to one side of the bed and tugging on one of his fluffy jumpers. The house is bright as he lumbers down carpeted stairs and down into the kitchen, half expecting nobody to be there, absorbed in loneliness.  
But, much to his surprise, Harry’s there, wearing a thin wool jumper that hangs over his shoulder blades, scribbling avidly in his notebook. He looks fresh and soft in the bright light-- lips a pale pink, hair glinted a pale cream from the reflection the counter is casting on his face.  
Louis wordlessly places a cup of tea in front of him, almost like a peace offering. Harry tilts his head up at the movement, eyes glowing, mouth tight shut.  
“Are you ready to talk now?” Louis asks , voice barely a whisper.  
“Are you ready to come out now?” Harry asks, apparently more furious than he led on.  
And Louis does what he does best when backed in a corner, he pushes back.  
And that’s Louis in a nutshell for you. Straight for the jugular in times of uncertainty. It’s one of these moments that Louis speaks without thinking and instantly regrets it.  
“You do know that coming out is something you do for yourself, when you’re ready, right? Not for someone else. And if you ever get your head out of your ass long enough, you’ll see that what you asking me to do is unfair.”  
Harry drops his spoon.“Don’t you dare.”  
“What? It’s true. You push and you push, regardless of what I want.”  
“Fuck you.”  
“That’s very mature, Harry.”  
“You have some fucking nerve. I asked you time and time again what you wanted. Don’t you dare pinning it on me when you specifically said we wanted the same thing. Why are you doing this Lou? Why are you pushing me away?”  
And then it hits Louis. He’s the one being unfair here. The one being an ass to this wonderful person who has shared everything with him-- given up everything, put himself second at every corner.  
Louis sighs, guilt weighing on his chest, desperate to alleviate it. “The truth is I’m not sure I can come out publicly if--”  
“If what?”  
“If my family isn’t on board.” Louis admits.  
“Fair enough.” Harry answers, still upset. “But what if they never are? What then? Will you stay in the closet all your life?”  
“I-- I don’t know.” Louis admits, feeling guiltier than ever.  
Harry gasps. “I love you but I don’t think I can do that-- Even for you.”  
“What are you saying, H?”  
Harry has tears threatening to fall and realisation striking him hard. “I respect your decision to wait, I do, but you’re asking too much of me.”  
It’s then that Louis feels it-- the weight. It’s a weight of guilt, a weight of realization, a weight in conscience, bearing down on his chest all at once, making his throat fall numb and his senses blur. It’s a weight that presses down on him so fiercely he thinks he’s going to collapse-- a weight that deafens him, numbs him down, makes everything dark and deep and gloomy.  
A weight he’s desperate to shift. No matter what. No matter the consequences, no matter what he sacrifices. In this moment, a few seconds of freedom is worth any pain he has to endure afterwards.  
“Fine.” Louis says, stubbornly. “Maybe we need a little time apart to think it through.”  
The weight lifts, propped up with his anger. Maybe that’s all he needs-- something to lash out at, a verbal punching bag, an output. But the heaviness of his words sink down on him as soon as he sees Harry’s face, as soon as he hears the things he’s said, as soon as he sees the events of the past week flash before his eyes. And then, just like that, the weight is back, toppling down on him, crushing him with the same trashing power that hoists a tidal wave against the shore.  
“Maybe we do yeah.” Harry answers, daring.  
Louis looks affronted and storms out.

**

Louis grabs his bag (they have a show tonight) and leaves. He’s a mixture of mad, sad, guilty and lost, and it puts not only a dirty taste in his mouth but makes the weight he feels even worse. It bears down on him like an elephant as he drives away, feeling tears short on the horizon, surrounds him, squishes him into a corner.  
Inescapable.  
Deafening.  
Funny thing is, most of the time Louis still has a difficult time grasping the fact that Harry loves him at all, so telling him what happened with Stewie will always appear really unsettling and daunting. Most of the time, Louis feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Harry to say that it’s been a big mistake from the start, and that he, in fact is better off without Louis.  
So he does what he does best: sabotage himself and set himself up for failure.  
Figures.  
At the venue in the Barclaycard Arena in Birmingham, Harry avoids him, looking a mix of sad, angry and tormented. And that’s not something Louis deals well with.  
The first and last thing he says to Harry before going on stage -- to provoke him, to provoke a reaction out of him, anything to keep the invisible red string tying them together from getting hurt, the string that has been worn, frayed and reduced to a thread at times but never severed, is:---  
“By the way, for someone who pledged to love me forever you sure gave up easily.”  
The red spots that appear on Harry’s neck and lower face let Louis know immediately how furious Harry feels, as if the thin line of his mouth, the lowering of his brow, and the slamming of the dressing room door wasn’t enough.  
Once the escapade is over, Louis feels like he’s been slapped.  
A part of him knows that for all he knows, he may as well’ve been.

**

The concert is nothing new. The atmosphere is brilliant, if not immersive, and Louis spends the majority of the time wondering if the fans have any idea of what’s going on behind closed doors. He stares at the flags and posters for a while, watching them sway, getting lost in all of those lights and all of those people. Sitting on the edge of the stage, surrounded by all of this appreciation and harmony, he can almost pretend that everything is alright.  
But, when Harry announces his piece for the ‘new songs’ segment at the last minute, the facade Louis has built up for himself is shattered instantly.  
Harry raises his microphone to his lips. “So, the tour is almost over and I have a song. Do you mind, boys?”  
The three of them nod, but look scared also. They’re not oblivious to the tension, Louis knows they aren’t. He doesn’t even want to know how much they know. He just keeps his face straight, focuses on the crowd, tries to calm the pounding in his head.  
“It’s a song I wrote a long time ago, about someone who was jerking me around. But, it's rather fitting right now, so…” Harry laughs.  
God. Louis knows a bitter Styles laugh when he hears one...

Goodbye, my almost lover  
Goodbye, my hopeless dream  
I'm trying not to think about you  
Can't you just let me be?  
So long, my luckless romance  
My back is turned on you  
Should've known you'd bring me heartache  
Almost lovers always do

Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out  
Of my life?

 

Alright, now Louis is panicking. His throat is tightening, tears are threatening to bound up in his eyes--- and no.  
Just no.  
This isn’t--- this isn’t--  
Shit.  
No.  
What the actual fuck is happening?

**

Louis loves Harry. More than anything. More that he ever could have thought was humanly possible. It’s the only thing he’s sure of. And the big black hole he buried himself into is his own responsibility, his own burden, his own cross to bear.  
When Harry goes home, he knows something is wrong the minute he steps foot in the house.  
The photograph is not in it’s rightful place on the entrance hall.  
The wardrobe is wide open, with clothes scattered on their bed.  
The bear is not on Louis’ nightstand.  
And Louis is gone.


	19. 19

Chapter 19

 

“All the voices in my mind, calling out across the line”  
Ed Sheeran, Bloodstream

 

**

Screech. Zip. Turn. Burn. Louis feels the ebb and flow of the tires under him like they were his own feet, rising and falling with the weight of the vehicle, driving along nameless streets and a city dipped in midnight.  
He's driving aimlessly, driving recklessly. Through the dark, muted lighting of the car, exaggerated by the pools of jagged light the street lights are offering outside, the rainbow bear is staring at him. Scarlett’s bear. Smiling, like the fucker it is.  
Beside it, there's half a bottle left of ‘dad’s alcohol’, like Harry named the thirty year scotch Louis likes to sip from time to time. Louis would often tease him about it--“What do you know about fine liquor Curly? You Appletini lover, you,”--but there would be no heat in the jab. Fondness in his eyes so strong his eyes crinkled.  
But he’s not sipping right now. He’s downing. And driving.  
Good combo Tommo, Jesus.  
Music is blasting through the soundsystem.

I've been spinning now for time  
Couple women by my side  
I got sinning on my mind  
Sipping on red wine  
I've been sitting here for ages  
Ripping out the pages  
How'd I get so faded?

He must be quite drunk already to be listening to his best friend’s album, spilling scotch on his shirt at every gulp and turn.

Oh, no, no, don't leave me alone lonely now  
If you loved me how'd you never learn?  
Oh, coloured crimson in my eyes  
One or two could free my mind  
This is how it ends

His eyes sting. He can barely see the road.

Lord, forgive me for the things I've done  
I was never meant to hurt no one  
I saw scars upon a broken-hearted lover

This is happening. This is all his doing. He set himself up for failure.  
Again.

All the voices in my mind  
Calling out across the line

His phone is buzzing. He knows better than to look at it, though. He may have broken his own heart but he doesn’t have a deathwish.  
Fuck.  
Maybe he should have left sooner.  
Maybe Harry would have been better off without knowing him at all.  
Maybe he shouldn’t have left at all.  
No. No.  
He has a job to do. When you run in circles for this long, the only way of breaking the cycle is exactly by doing that. Actually breaking the cycle. Taking action. Being fucking responsible for once in your bloody life.  
He grits his teeth. You’re up to a great start by drunk driving, Tommo!  
Maybe Harry has found the box.  
Maybe Louis will get a second, scratch that, a gazillionth chance.  
Maybe it’ll mend the fences with Harry.  
No more secrets. No more lies.  
The fire in his heart burns hot now and matches the one in his eyes. Or is it just the scotch?  
Or maybe it’ll all explode in his fucking face.  
He’d deserve it.  
It can’t get worse than this, though, Louis reasons. It can’t get worse than actually getting to reach the sky, touch the stars, taste paradise, then losing it all.  
He made his bed.  
Now he has to lie in it.

**

The pavements are dark with the foreboding glisten of midnight when Harry gets back home. As he turns the key in the lock and draws in a sharp breath, he reasons that he's prepared, if not fully ready, to have the fight of the century.  
It's the reason he's so late home, after all-- the scenic slumber of London’s backstreets his only company as he mulled things over, driving around to divert himself, angrily chewing on his lip as the evening flew by.  
And yeah, sure, he may have gone a tad too far with singing “Almost Lover”. But in his defense, Louis pushed his buttons.  
“For someone who pledged to love me forever you sure gave up easily.”  
And there is no way in hell he’s letting Louis’ jab slide.  
There’s no way he’s letting him shut down, either.  
They’ve come too far.  
So when he realises Louis is gone, his first instinct is not to cry, or be crippled with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness like he’s done every time before. Somehow, he feels like he's risen above those feelings, like they've been frozen solid and cold in his stomach, and even though he feels slight pangs of them bubbling beneath the surface, he does not let them fight his urge to reach for the phone.  
And so, he stands there, and he calls Louis. After several rings, it goes to voicemail.  
“Bip. Hi, it’s Louis. You know what to do. Bip.”  
And Harry speaks as clearly as he can manage through his rage, feeling his blood flooding in his veins, feeling the frustration reach up inside of him and tighten his throat.  
“Listen. You love me. You love me. It’s a forever kind of deal.” He exhales through his nostrils, fingertips battling the crumpled scowl that has formed on the bridge of his nose. “You don’t get to leave.”  
He pauses.  
“You don't get to run, do you hear me?”  
Harry’s voice cracks when his eyes land on a pair of Louis’ sneakers, tattered and dirty, left behind beside the front door.  
“You just don't.”

**  
Louis finally parks the car in front of a shitty hotel in God knows where. He doesn't even know what the fucking time is, but it's pitch black and cold, and he needs sleep.  
He’s in no state to do what he wants to do, and it’s too late, regardless.  
At least, this is what he tells himself as he groggily drags his bag out of the car and leaves the bottle on the front seat. After a moment of hesitation, he takes the bear along too, resting it on top of his bag as he signs in at the cigarette-strewn reception and lugs his tired ass up musty stairs.  
He doesn't even look at the hotel room upon arriving. He simply locks the door, throws his bag on the floor, and drops to the bed like a dead weight.  
He’s asleep in minutes.

**  
Louis awakens to the sound of rain clattering down on the hotel roof, drumming along the window, pinging angrily against the glass. It takes him only a moment to realize where he is, the absence of a certain curly head beside him indication enough, but it takes him way longer to remember why. A hangover is trampling over his mind at the moment, stomping out his senses, blurring his vision, making him disorientated and exhausted all at once.  
He hates this feeling.  
His mouth feels like it’s filled with sand as he drags himself up, knees staggering, and finds the switch for the bathroom before walking inside. Yesterday’s clothes are sticky on him, yesterday’s feelings cascading in on his head. He’s careful to avoid the mirror-- not wanting to relive yesterday’s appearance, too-- as he peels off his clothes and clambers into the shower.  
It barely works, and yeah, there may or may not be a huge gaping hole in the curtain and a draft through the wall tiles, but it’s better than nothing. For a while, he just stands there with his eyes shut, letting the water cascade down his head and shoulders, netting his hair slicked to his forehead and his eyelashes slicked to his eyebags. It’s a nice feeling, a feeling that drowns out the outside world and makes him feel like nothing else exists. It’s a great feeling. An infinite feeling.  
Or, at least, it is, until his skin wrinkles.  
When that happens, he steps out of the shower with a hearty sigh, debates shaving, decides against shaving, wraps the only decent towel the hotel has over his body and finds his phone.  
Curly: 1 missed call  
“You have one message.”  
He listens to it with bated breath.  
You don’t get to run. You hear me? You don’t get to run.  
Fuck.  
After the shower, the rain, and all of the debating, this is what wakes him up. This is what shakes him to the bone, rattles his heart within his chest, causes shaking hands to drop the phone onto the shitty hotel sheets and stare at his feet.  
He was hoping that the worst would be over by now.  
But, clearly, Harry hasn’t found the box yet.

**

The morning grows bright and airy after the rainfall -- glinting the shimmering leaves bright and infinite along the pavement. The air is cold despite the new sunshine, causing the dustbins outside to clatter and whipping the sky into a whirlwind of grey. Under it, Harry is just about to go out for a jog to clear his head, clad in tight running gear, locking the door and walking out into the front garden. Everything is slick and shining from the rain, the leaves trembling as the wind pushes them to and fro, droplets zig-zagging from the wind chime and clattering down onto the path.  
He’s detangling his headphones when he bumps into Jay, neon trainers skidding to a halt on the wet grass, eyes widening as their arms collide. She was standing beside the open gate, hand on the rail, and is evidently very startled once she realizes who she’s crossed paths with.  
“Jesus Christ, you scared me!” She shrieks, hand on her chest.  
“Um.” Harry halts. “Hello, Jay.”  
“Is my son here?” She answers, tone clipped.  
“He’s not. He’s um. Out.”  
“Oh.” She’s about to turn around, flustered and evidently feeling out of place.  
Harry is gentle. “Would you like to come inside for a bit?”  
The sun is retreating beyond grey clouds, and a spot of rain lands right between them. She’s chewing at her bottom lip, tugging at the hem of her shirt.  
She looks so much like Louis right now it’s a little unsettling.  
“Alright.” She finally speaks.  
Jay looks a little afraid, but looks him straight in the eye none the less.  
The rain and wind pick up as Harry unlocks the door and guides her to the living room. Along the way, she seems to be taking everything in, looking at the photos on the walls, the photos of Harry and Louis together, the photos of the band and their families. She comes to a halt just inside the living room, right in front of an old one of herself holding a five-year old Louis, a hand on her quivering mouth.  
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Harry asks.  
“Yes.” She exhales. “Please.”  
When he comes back with a tray, still neatly clad in sports gear and a bun, she’s sat on the sofa, her hands neatly folded on her lap, looking small and lost.  
“You look tired.” She comments, as he hands the cup to her.  
“Yeah, well, the schedule is pretty intense but the tour is almost over so we-- I’ll get plenty of rest soon enough I guess.” Harry clears his throat, nervous.  
“Are you happy, Harry?”  
Well at this point, he doesn’t really know where his boyfriend is or if he’s coming back anytime soon, so not really.  
But he’s not about to tell her that.  
In fact, if it’s his only chance to help their relationship, he’s bloody going to take it. It’s the number one reason they’re in this mess in the first place, so he’d be damned if he at least didn’t try and fix it.  
Even if he’s pretty pissed at Louis right now.  
Even if he’s worried sick.  
Harry chooses to believe she’s asking about their happiness together. And he blatantly lies.  
“We are very happy. We love each other.”  
She nods.  
“Harry. Please don’t take it the wrong way, but what do you know about love, honey?” She looks genuinely curious. “I mean, you’ve always been obsessed with my boy, that much is obvious, so excuse me for having doubts.”  
Harry laughs, but it’s not bitter.  
“You know that ache in your cheeks you have from smiling too much?”  
She nods and he takes it as permission to go on.  
“And sometimes-- sometimes you’re waking up and you're still in the in between states between asleep and awake? A little woozy from sleep?” Harry smiles. “And the ache reminds you of the night before and you get all fuzzy inside at the memory flashing through your mind. All at once you're reminded of who's responsible for that happiness and you have to hide your face in the pillow?”  
Jay’s lips are parted now, in a silent gasp.  
“That's how I know it’s love, Jay.”  
Harry looks lost in thought for a second.“Four years later and your son still makes me feel like the lovestruck sixteen year old I was. I don’t how it could be a bad thing.”  
His piercing eyes are testing her and eventually she nods, if not ever-so slightly. Harry could’ve missed it if he wasn’t paying attention.  
“Louis-- Is he okay?” She asks, voice quiet.  
Harry thinks about it. “Your approval. It’s important to him. I can’t really relate because I’ve been out to my family, like, pretty much always. But somehow, I don’t think we can move forward if you don’t give us your blessing.”  
Jay sighs. “I feel like he’s slipping away. Like I don’t know him anymore.”  
“He’s still the same. Just more himself, if that-- he’s growing into himself and you shouldn’t miss out on it.”  
“That’s what Karen said.” Jay nods.  
“What else did she say?” Harry asks, poorly disguised hope in his voice.  
“She said that I need to ‘grow the fuck up’.”  
And then she laughs, a big, heart warming laugh, a contagious one that almost brings her to tears. And Harry is smiling.  
“That woman has a very colourful language. It’s been good talking to her.” She gets up, and Harry follows her.  
“Thanks for the tea. And the chat. You have a lovely home.” She lingers in the hallway, fingertips brushing over the edge of one photograph in particular.  
A black and white one. It’s Louis with some of the backstage crew, and he appears to be brandishing some kind of inflatable in the air. Obviously unprepared for the photo, he’s wearing a huge gasp, and the rest of the crew are either laughing or running away from him.  
A moment of sombreness passes over Jay’s face. “Tell my son to call his mum. I’ve never been this long without talking to him.”  
“Will do.”  
I just don’t know when.  
And then, awkwardly, like she’s never done it before, she hugs him.  
It takes him a second to adjust and slot into the embrace but when he does, he feels pangs of recognition. Of her, of Louis, and it feels like home and hope and love all at once.  
Comforting.  
He’s about to shut the door when she says--“Harry, love, there’s a box outside.”  
“Wh--?”  
And so there is. Carefully not-so hidden behind a plant on the porch, in the same place Harry found a necklace from Louis not so long ago, lies a blue box. He must have missed it the night before when he came home in the dark, fumbling to find his keys.  
Harry waves Jay goodbye and takes the box with trembling hands.

**

It’s almost one o’clock when Louis parks his car. It comes to a halt right beside a row of big white Victorian houses-- each one graced with a huge porch and way too many plants next to the door-- and upon stopping it, he checks the address twice on his phone before getting out of the car and lighting a cigarette. He never knew Lincoln was this hilly-- the wide, rolling expanses of land curving up and over each street and obscuring the city centre from view-- nor did he expect it to be so...mild. It’s much warmer in temperature here, the breeze neither hot or cold, the leaves on the pavement twirling in placid little circles.  
The smoke from Louis’ cigarette mirrors these pirouettes as he turns to look at the house in front of him. Clean, homey, and rather new, it sits squarely upon a tame lawn and just adjacent to a sloping cobbled pathway. There’s already Halloween decorations posted up in the front window despite it only being September, and, just from the living room window, there’s faint music playing that Louis faintly recognizes as Coldplay.  
Louis lets out a soft sigh. It’s a nice place.  
The wind ruffles his hair and slaps hard against his cheeks, making him feel more tired than ever, weighing down his eyelids and wearing down his energy. He closes his eyes, sips in one more bout of cigarette, and then drops it on the pavement. He twists the heel of his Vans from side to side to put it out, looks up, and takes a big breath.  
Panic surges up his stomach. He fans it back down.  
You can do this, Tommo.  
Knock, knock, knock.  
“Coming!” A voice, made faint by the door, answers.  
The door opens to reveal a man, much taller than Louis, with broad shoulders and flour all over his cheeks and lip. He’s wearing an apron that slants from his neck as he wedges the door open, and Louis feels a pang of recognition that freezes his throat and puts an odd taste in his mouth.  
“Sorry I was getting the cake out of the--” The Man --Matt-- stops abruptly as his eyes land on Louis’ face.  
“Hello. I’m Louis Tomlinson--” Louis begins.  
“I know who you are.” Matt says, face hardening instantly, dark eyebrows slipping down his face.  
Louis nods, pursing his lips.  
“Who is it, Matt?” A voice shouts, muffled and far away.  
Matt half closes the door to answer--“The mailman, babe, finish your bath!”  
He then opens the door again.  
“Why are you here? What do you want?”  
“I’m here to see Stewi-- Stewart.” Louis catches himself. “And, um, apologise. If he’d let me.”  
Matt exhales through his nose.  
“Look. If he doesn’t want to see me, I completely understand.” Louis offers, treading lightly.  
Matt seems to ponder things. He looks a little intimidating, staring unforgivingly at Louis with lowered eyebrows, the flour on his face appearing a little more like war paint than it does baking.  
“I don’t want to make him -or you- uncomfortable.” Louis looks up at him. “I just need-- I don’t know. I need to know that he’s okay. Is he?”  
“I couldn’t care less about what you need.”  
Louis bites his lip, already preparing to leave. “Fair enough.”  
Matt stands resolute. “But I don’t make decisions for him.”  
Louis nods, watching Matt as he scumples his lips.  
“Wait here.” He says.  
And just like that, the door closes in Louis’ face.  
And he so he waits. He contemplates lighting another cigarette in the silence, but ultimately decides against it, struggling as it is to pack down the furious anxiety building up in his stomach. It feels like hours have passed, in fact, when Matt finally draws the door back and cocks his head to the side, barely batting an eyelid at Louis, currently standing jittery and small on the doorstep.  
“This way.”  
Matt leads him to the living room. Stewie is there, sat on the sofa, wide eyed and nervous. He looks clean and bright with his hair still damp from his bath, wearing clothes too big for him, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.  
“Babe, I’ll be right in the kitchen if you need me, alright?” Matt says, impossibly soft, to Stewie.  
“Stay.” Louis says. “Please.”  
There’s a heartbeat of silence.  
Louis looks up at Matt, sighing a little.“If... If it’s okay with you, of course.”  
Matt looks at Stewie, who simply nods, and Matt is quick to sit right next to him on the sofa, putting one arm around him and taking his hand. Comforting, familiar, peaceful.  
That’s nice.  
Louis sits on the armchair opposite them, feeling out of place and jittery, a million things bouncing into his head at once.  
“I guess I should start at the beginning.” Louis says, looking at his shoe.  
When nobody says anything, he looks up again, meeting Stewie’s hesitant eyes, feeling his heart thumping rapidly in his chest.  
“I apologise.” The words come out of his mouth slowly, a lot easier than he ever thought they would be. “I treated you like shit and I’m sorry.”  
Stewart’s face is reddening by the minute, cheeks becoming blotchy, lips disappearing altogether. Tears obviously starting to pool in the corners of of his eyes.  
“Why did you, though?” Stewie cries. “What did I ever do to you or your friends to deserve that?”  
Louis sighs, frustrated and uncomfortable. Matt is drawing soothing circles on Stewart’s back, silently shushing him, looking between them with equal measures of concern and comfort.  
“Look, you have every right to be angry with me and I don’t want to ruin my apology with stupid excuses, because--- because there’s none.”  
There’s a pause then, one that Louis uses to choose his words.  
“I can maybe give some kind of explanation?” Louis sighs. “I don’t know. I’m sorry I’m not the best at this. Owning up to my mistakes, I mean, it’s kind of new to me…” He pauses, scratching at his stubble, mouth twitching, eyes bright and lowered all at once.  
“Okay…” Stewie says, a little softer then-- “Why don’t you give a try?”  
Louis exhales.  
“Well, I’m gay, for one.”  
His voice wobbles. Louis dreams of the day he will be able to say this without his heart going into his mouth. Today, it seems, is not the day. It’s such a big part of who he is, it shouldn’t be this hard, right? He shouldn’t feel like the world has stopped every time he says it. Everytime he does, he feels scared and overwhelmed, but he feels such relief, such pride-- toppling and surging through him all at once. It’s weird.  
“No shit.” Stewie snarks.  
Louis chooses to ignore his tone. “You knew it before I did, then.”  
Stewie nods, lip wobbling, tugging nervously at his sleeve.  
“The truth is, I liked you.” Louis says, honestly.  
“Who wouldn’t?” Matt interjects, smiling fondly at Stewart and diffusing the tension by doing so.  
Stewie responds with a sheepish smile of his own, eyes brightening, and Louis feels a string of recognition being tugged from beneath all of his guilt.  
Something that reminds him of Harry.  
“Yeah.” He smiles, honestly, for the first time in what feels like forever. “I couldn’t deal with it, so I was a twat.”  
“Your friends were worse.”  
“Ex-friends.” Louis corrects. “They’re out of my life for good. I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner they were dickheads.”  
“Good.” Stewie nods, calming down.  
“Yeah.”  
“I hated you so much. Fuck. And them. And all the others after them.” Stewie gets up and begins pacing. “But somehow, I let go of that anger. I needed to, to move on you know?”  
He’s speaking animatedly and quickly, and Louis is soaking in every word. Across from him, Matt is simply smiling. Like he’s admiring Stewie’s every move.  
“To be myself, to be happy. And I am. So happy now.” Stewie continues, stopping in front of Louis, and letting out a honest sigh. “So I don’t need your apology, Louis.”  
He doesn’t say it harshly, it’s just kind of factual.  
“Most people don’t get an apology though. I should know, I volunteer at the LGBT Centre nearby. I see many kids like I was, and like you were actually -- so my question is--- why are you here, Louis? Why now?”  
Stewie turns and sits back in his previous spot.  
“I saw your video.” Louis says.  
Stewie gasps and Matt tightens his grip around his waist.  
Louis clears his throat. “I guess I never realised how hard it had been for you. I-- It opened my eyes to a lot of things. How much you suffered, how you turned that into something positive, and It -- well-- Shit.”  
“Continue, please.” Matt says then, because Stewie can’t-- the stream of tears down his cheeks evidently choking up his throat.  
And they seem to have some kind of silent conversation going on, because Stewie is patting Matt’s hand like a thank you gesture.  
Louis looks at them. “It was inspiring.”  
“Are you planning on coming out soon, Louis?” Matt asks.  
There’s a pregnant pause, then Louis shrugs.  
“A closet, even as fancy as yours, is still a closet, I suppose.” Stewie sniffs. “You should do what makes you happy.” Stewie takes Matt’s hand in his, and with them intertwined like this, the blob they both have tattooed on their hands makes a heart shape.  
(Louis just noticed, and it makes his heart somersault.)  
He sees all the things he could have, and he wants them with Harry. It’s an image that he’s gonna have imprinted in his brain forever. It's a turning point.  
He, too, could be loved, happy, cared for, safe--- if he just let himself.  
Before he leaves, Stewie lingers by the door, grabs Louis’ arm and says---  
“It’s okay if he makes you strong.”

**

So, as it turns out, Harry doesn’t get to open the box. He’s minutes away of doing so, in fact, as soon as Jay leaves, curiosity tipping over his movements and leading his feet to approach it-- when a rapid, excitable knock on the front door breaks him from his train of thought.  
It’s Niall, looking frantic and on edge, bobbing up and down on excitable feet and looking up at Harry as if he holds the answers to the universe.  
As soon as he sees Harry’s attire, his smile falls. “You’re not going running, are you?”  
Harry looks at the box, sitting on the bottom ledge of his staircase. Quite frankly, as curious as he is, he’s also dreading what’s inside it. He can’t just do it with Niall beside him. It feels momentous and personal enough for him to do it alone-- possibly with a full bottle of wine and a Sarah Mclachlan album on loop armed around him.  
“No.” He resolves, looking back at Niall. “I’m---No.”  
“Good.” Niall looks instantly relieved. “Because you and I, my friend, are going ring shopping.”

**

Cartier is extremely lit up for the afternoon-- long, gangly fairy lights dangling down onto the heads of shoppers like cobwebs and swinging to and fro, a ridiculously scintillant plethora of LEDs blinking up from below each glass case, a blinding display of pumpkins constructed of watches overshadowing the entire back wall.  
As Niall leads Harry through, looking at rows upon rows of big bright diamonds, Harry regrets not sleeping as much as he should’ve-- the bright lights and oppressive stares of passers’ by drilling into his brain and making his eyes heavy. In front of him, casual as ever, Niall is looking so concentrated that his face is contorted in all of the ways it shouldn’t be.  
Harry looks at him. “I thought she said no.”  
Niall doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. So?”  
Harry blinks dumbly at the statement. Of course. This is all so Niall, all so clear.  
To everyone except him, it’s anything but.  
“She’ll come around.” Niall shrugs. “And I want to be ready when it happens.”  
Oh, what Harry would give to live in Niall’s shoes for just one day.  
“What do you think of this one?” Niall asks, pointing to a piece of jewelry over to the side.  
“Are you kidding? That giant rock?” Harry scowls, unbelieving. “Do you know her at all, Ni?”  
“Shit, you’re right.” Niall answers, shoulders going slack. “But I need to make a statement here. I can’t buy her a cheap ass ring!”  
“Yeah, but I mean-- She would never, in a million years, wear that.” Harry points at the ring and makes a face.  
“Alright.” Niall says. “What do I do?”  
They shuttle on. Eventually, they end up in some old, musty antiques and vintage jewellery shop just around the corner-- where there’s cobwebs hooked up in the ceiling and a prehistoric owner behind the counter. He doesn’t seem to recognise them, either, which is always an added bonus.  
“I knew you were the man for the job.” Niall says, beaming, picking up a tray of rings and nodding to himself. “Louis would be dead of boredom right now.”  
Ah. There it is. The proverbial giant elephant in the jewelry store.  
“He couldn’t be regardless, seeing that he just packed up and left.” Harry says, sourly.  
Like it’s nothing.  
Like he didn’t just drop a bomb.  
The tray of rings Niall was holding clatter to the ground as he stares, open-mouthed, at Harry. For a few moments, there’s silence. And then, the two of them are bobbing down to pick all of them back up, trying to hide what’s going on from the owner up front who would, given the chance, be more than happy to throw them out.  
As they’re picking up the rings from the carpet, Niall scowls up at Harry. “What the fuck?”  
Harry avoids his gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
“The hell you don’t!” Niall says, angrily. “You know we’re not as oblivious as you two think we are, man! We practically live with you. We live your ups and down with you. What kind of fool do you think I am? Yesterday’s song? What was that about?”  
They finally pick up all of the rings and stand back up, deflated. Harry lets out a sigh and leans against the worktop behind them.  
“What the hell do I know, Ni?” He shakes his head. He’s the one who’s always running from his problems! I’m here. I am here. I may lash out when he pushes my buttons, but at least I’m here. That must count for something, right?”  
Harry looks helpless and lost, staring at a patch on the floor.  
Niall’s mouth becomes a thin line as he places the tray on the side, and then, hugs him.  
“Hey.” He says, over Harry’s shoulder. “Calm down. Eventually he will learn, okay? He can’t change overnight. He just can’t.”  
“Why can’t it just be simple for once?” Harry leans his chin into Niall’s shoulder, tearing up. “It is for you and Sam.”  
Niall pats his back. “Well, she hasn’t said yes, so I don’t know about that.”  
Harry is about to respond, all low eyelids and sorrowful pout, when something catches his eye over Niall’s shoulder. Something glinting, faintly in the poor light, standing out from beside all of the flashy, sparkling rings around it. A thin, simple banded ring, silver in colouring, sitting right in the middle of Niall’s tray.  
Calling out to Harry.  
Like some kind of radar.  
“I think I found our winner, Ni.”

**

When they take it to be engraved, the guy at the counter asks, rather snottily-- “What do you want it to say?”  
Niall grins, not even breathing before saying--“My ass is yours.”  
There’s a moment of silence.  
Harry nudges him, a smile crossing his face.“But, honey, we just met.”  
They spend the next few minutes cackling.  
The cashier, by no surprise, doesn’t look impressed.

**

When Harry gets back, it’s a lot darker than he thought it would be. The last of the day’s light, made spectacular by London’s congestional fumes and the flickering glisten of skyscraper bulbs, makes one last parade over the sky, glowing red and orange and pink and gold. The flapping of bird’s wings are it’s rapid cry as it dies, sinking below the horizon, and the scarlet glow it casts over the pavement and curb is it’s last mark-- brushing faint, warm colours against the houses, the horizon, and everything inbetween.  
As Harry unlocks the door and steps inside, the colour from outside shines a bright red glow onto the doormat. He watches it for a few seconds, enchanted, before closing the door, drawing the curtain, and walking forwards.  
The box is in the same spot he left it that morning. Staring up at him, almost accusingly.  
It’s a dark blue box, no bigger than a shoebox, tattered around the edges and obviously previously used. As Harry looks at it, he reasons that it’s probably one of Louis’ old shoeboxes, and the thought makes his chest hurt. He goes to the kitchen, pours himself a tall glass of red wine, grabs the box and sits on the piano bench.  
His phone burns a hole in his hand as he texts Louis. A curious level of sadness filling every word.

Curly: So, as it turns out, a little time alone turned into a lot of missing you. Come home. H.

Then, without waiting for a reply, he opens the box with bated breath.  
A smaller box. An envelope. A tattered folder. A USB stick.  
Harry filters through the contents with gentle fingertips. He doesn’t even know he’s holding his breath until his throat begins to sting, and even then, he holds it a little more. Deciding that opening the envelope is probably a good place to start, he puts the box on the side, and holds it with delicate, vaguely trembling hands.  
It’s worn, but looks recent. On the front, “Curly” is scrawled, in messy, inky handwriting. As Harry sticks his thumb underneath and tears it open, he feels his heart skip as inside, he sees more of that messy handwriting. In fact, there’s a whole one-sided letter in there-- written on unlined paper, smudged and crossed out in places-- and it instantly relieves Harry, because it’s almost like a piece of Louis is here with him, in the moment.  
Beside him.  
He bites his lip and starts to read.

 

My dearest Harry,  
When you read this letter, I’ll probably be gone. But I want you to know that I’m not running this time.  
At least, I don’t mean to be.  
I didn’t mean to break up with you. I’m just not wired like you are. Most of the time, I don’t understand why you even bother, to be honest. And that’s why I react the way I do, that’s why I can’t seem to stop myself from testing you.  
It’s a shitty excuse, I know.  
(Just so you know, this is supposed to be a love letter. And look how it’s begun already. It should give you a pretty good idea of the way my fucking mind works. Jesus fuck.)

Harry barks out a laugh that surprises him against the silence of the room.

I’ve been hiding some things from you, and I’m sorry it had to come to this for me to come clean about it. But that’s because I’m scared of how you will react. I don’t want to see your face when you find out. I couldn’t bare to look at your disappointed look. I never could’ve handled that.  
When I was a teenager, Oli and Cal bullied a kid that fancied me and I watched them-- day in and day out-- do it, and didn’t do anything about it. I don’t want you to think that I’m not taking responsibility for this, because I am. I learned recently that the boy --Stewie-- tried to kill himself because of us. (Watch the video, you’ll understand. It’s on the USB.)

Harry takes in a breath so sharp he’s sure it’s scratched his throat. He swallows, blinks, drops the letter, and goes to the kitchen. It takes him a rather long time, and several more drinks, to rack up the courage to watch the video. He shakes his head through all of it, overwhelmed and sad, feeling his chest weighed down with each second of the video that passes.  
When it’s finished, he resumes his reading.

I couldn’t move forward with ‘the plan’ without making things right with Stewie. I hope you understand that, H. (That’s what I’m going to do now, btw, that and talk to my family.)  
I don’t know if you’ll still want to be with me after all this mess. But I hope so with every fiber of my being that you do. And that says a lot, because after all, I’m not a hopeful kind of guy.  
I want you to know me. Like all of me, or whatever. I feel like we can never move forward otherwise.  
So here you have it. All the songs I wrote through the years and never got the courage to show you. They say all the things I should’ve said.  
They’re all about you, my love.

 

Yours sincerely,  
Louis

Harry places the letter on top of the piano and opens the little box with trembling fingers. It’s red suede, filled with paper tissue, and when he sees what’s inside, he can’t help but feel a thousand emotions tumble down on him at once.  
The paperplane necklace.  
The same one. The same one Louis left for him, the same one Harry sent back in the mail nine months ago.  
That romantic little bugger.  
Harry feels it between his fingertips. It’s the same one, and yet, there’s something different about it.  
He turns it over.  
Ah.  
On it’s left wing, an infinity symbol has been carved into the metal. It’s barely noticeable at first glance, but Harry brushes the pad of his thumb over it, closes his eyes, and knows it means more to him than he’ll ever be able to verbalize.  
He digs through the rest of the box for a note, something, anything--- musing to himself that Louis can’t have possibly have had the time to do it the night before. His suspicions are confirmed when a tiny section of white paper falls out of the box and he has to stoop down to pick it up again, the square neatly folded in half, Louis’ writing neater than he’s ever seen it.

I want to write you a song  
One as beautiful as you are sweet  
With just a hint of pain  
For the feeling that I get when you are gone  
I want to write you a song

-

2 years ago you planted a drunken kiss on me :-)  
Happy anniversary, baby.  
xx-- Louis

 

Harry stares at the note for a few seconds before gently placing it back into its box, patting it there, taking the necklace between fingertips and drawing it around his neck. As he feels the cold slip down his chest, he feels something inside of him jar and-- it’s--- it’s almost overwhelming. It’s a warmth that spreads right from where the necklace touches his skin to the tips of his fucking fingers, causing his eyes to water as the words sink in.  
For a moment, he’s breathless.  
He never wants to shake this feeling.  
With reverent hands, he carefully opens the folder at the bottom of the box and takes out the stack of paper. Gently. Preciously. Like it holds all of the secrets of Louis’ heart.  
The first two sheets come with a post-it note attached to them, with the words “I don’t know why I feel self-conscious about this but I do…” scribbled atop them.

I'm still waiting for the rain to fall  
Pour real life down on me  
'Cause I can't hold on to anything this good enough  
Am I good enough for you to love me too?

So take care what you ask of me  
'cause I can't say no.

\-- Good enough

Here I stand  
With gravel gut and heart in hand  
I'm only asking for a second chance  
A little better luck and circumstance  
All I've got  
I've never been the kind to ask a lot  
I'm only asking for a second shot  
A little helping hand and loving touch

So pick me up when I can't go on  
Life ticking away like a time bomb  
Still a hundred million miles from home  
Got a long way, long long way  
We got a long way to go, baby  
Got a long way to go, yes I know  
We got a long way to go, baby  
This time

Roughneck skin  
Hell, even losers find a way to win  
And that's the way I want to feel again  
Dig up a little bit of confidence  
Never say die  
Don't got the answers, I don't question why  
Just need a little bit of extra time  
Don't raise my head, I keep a little pride

\-- Long way to go

 

Harry has pursed lips and a puzzled face as he reads through the words, putting the page to the bottom each time he flicks. The next two sheets are binded together with a paperclip and pinned with a note saying:- “I was in a bit of a tattoo phase for a while, okay? Don’t judge me, Curly.”

I want a heart tattoo  
I want it to hurt really bad  
That's how I'll know  
I'll know it's real  
A real tattoo

I wanna say "what's up dad?"  
Who knows how you'd feel about that  
What do you want me to say?  
It's never going away  
My heart tattoo

\-- Heart tattoo

All I know  
All I know  
Is that I'm lost  
Whenever you go  
All I know  
Is that I love you so  
So much that it hurts

Got a tattoo and the pain's alright  
Just want a way of keeping you inside

\--Ink

Even before he finishes reading, Harry has rosy cheeks and a bubbling heart. He doesn’t get shy often, but it’s at times like these that he does-- times when he can feel Louis’ laugh and touch right beside him even when he’s not here.  
And yeah, it’s kinda lovely.  
The next two have no post-its attached, but lots of doodles. It’s quite evident that Louis has spent a lot of time on them, and the ink is in all different colours, like he’s gone back to it over and over again.

Round and around and around and around we go  
Oh now tell me, now tell me, now tell me now you know

Not really sure how to feel about it  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you  
It takes me all the way  
I want you to stay (This line is striked and has a note left in the margin -- you’re the one that always leaves…)

Oh the reason I hold on  
Oh 'cause I need this hole gone  
Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving  
'Cause when you never see the light, it's hard to know which one of us is caving

\-- Stay

I should go  
Before my will gets any weaker  
And my eyes begin to linger  
Longer than they should  
I should go  
Before I lose my sense of reason  
And this hour holds more meaning  
Than it ever could  
I should go  
I should go  
Baby, I should go

\--I Should Go

 

Harry feels a sudden pang of sadness, reminded of all of the times he was left waking up alone--- the loneliness, the isolation, the disappointment. It’s a mixture of that and what he felt when they were in limbo-- love, lust, hopelessness, helplessness-- and he’s honestly left in awe in how so little words can shake up such feelings in him again.  
God. He feels himself tearing up a little.  
He had no idea Louis felt this way.  
The note on the next one says “I wrote this one last week. It came to me in a dream. (Don’t laugh.)”

We keep behind closed doors  
Every time I see you, I die a little more  
Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls  
It'll never be enough  
As you drive me to the house  
I can't stop these silent tears from rolling down  
You and I both have to hide on the outside  
Where I can't be yours and you can't be mine

But I know this, we got a love that is homeless

Why can't I hold you in the street?  
Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?  
I wish that it could be like that  
Why can't it be like that? Cause I'm yours  
Why can't I say that I'm in love?  
I wanna shout it from the rooftops  
I wish that it could be like that  
Why can't it be like that? Cause I'm yours

It's obvious you're meant for me  
Every piece of you, it just fits perfectly  
Every second, every thought, I'm in so deep  
But I'll never show it on my face

But we know this, we got a love that is hopeless

I don't wanna live love this way

I don't wanna hide us away  
I wonder if it ever will change  
I'm living for that day, someday  
When you hold me in the street  
And you kiss me on the dance floor  
I wish that we could be like that  
Why can't we we be like that? Cause I'm yours, I'm yours

\-- Secret love song

The next two have obviously been unscrumpled-- every ridge tattered and crumpled-- and the note on top of it says:- “I wrote these on your birthday… I haven’t reread them since but I couldn’t get rid of them either...”  
They weren’t talking at all back then. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Last time we talked, the night that I walked  
Burns like an iron in the back of my mind  
I must've been high to say you and I  
Weren't meant to be and just wasting my time  
Oh, why did I ever doubt you?  
You know I would die here without you

All that I'm after is a life full of laughter  
As long as I'm laughing with you  
I'm thinkin' that all that still matters is love ever after  
After the life we've been through  
'Cause I know there's no life after you

\-- Life After You

I can hear your heart  
On the radio beat  
They're playing 'Chasing Cars'  
And I thought of us  
Back to the time,  
You were lying next to me  
I looked across and fell in love  
So I took your hand  
Back through lamp lit streets I knew  
Everything led back to you  
So can you see the stars?  
Over Amsterdam  
You're the song my heart is  
Beating to

So open your eyes and see  
The way our horizons meet  
And all of the lights will lead  
Into the night with me  
And I know these scars will bleed  
But both of our hearts believe  
All of these stars will guide us home

\-- All Of The Stars

When he finishes, Harry feels overwhelmed. It’s weird going through their story through Louis’ eyes-- almost like he’s just got the key to all of Louis’ secrets. Like he finally can put all the pieces of the puzzle that is Louis’ brain together. Like everything between them is finally a constellation that makes a little more sense.  
He sniffs, loudly, and the gesture makes him realise how teary eyed he’s gotten in the past twenty minutes. He sits up, stirs, grabs his phone and presses the speed dial.  
“Bip. Hi, it’s Louis. You know what to do. Bip.”  
Harry sighs and hangs up. It’s not a conversation he wants to have in a voicemail. Still, he wants to know the minute Louis turns his phone on, so he writes a text in form of lyrics instead--

“A little bird once talked to me  
but then it flew away too quickly  
didn’t have the time to ask  
the things I needed...”

All in all, Harry finally found some clarity in the box.  
Seeing their story flashing before his very eyes through the lyrics, Harry can grasp how much Louis has grown, but he finds himself surprised to see that, despite it all, he’s grown too. Tremendously. Like the past few months have blinded him from seeing how much better it all is now.  
How much better they are now. He remembers the naive, innocent boy who fell in love with Louis Tomlinson, and he remembers the cocky, loud, spontaneous boy he fell in love with.  
And he smiles.  
But most of all, in this moment, Harry realises that he loves Louis to the moon and back.  
And seeing that Louis is willing to resolve his issues to build something with him, he knows he feels the same way.

 

**

The moon is faintly hovering over the sky despite it being a bright blue September morning-- washed out by the deep blue, drowned out by the loud wind. Through it, Niall and Sam are walking side by side, slowly navigating themselves (and her numerous siblings) through the structured slumber that is Hyde Park.  
It’s a nice atmosphere. Huxley is sitting on Niall’s shoulders, his cheek squished upon Niall’s hair, feeling sleepy despite the other’s evident athleticism. Seb is trying to look cool on rollerskates, zooming down the pavement at way too fast a pace and scaring the pigeons away. Summer is scowling at every pass he makes at the poor birds-- “Jesus, you’re a psychopath in the making.”-- and, beside her, Scarlet is running after the pigeons with daisy chains.  
It’d be a perfect picture beside from the fact that Scarlet’s shoelaces are undone, and everytime her eyes pass over them Sam feels herself washed with worry. Eventually, they come to a stop on a bench-- Niall moving to fulfill his promise of ice cream with Huxley still sleepily situated on his shoulders-- and Sam finally being able to address the topic.  
“Scar, hun, tie your shoes!” She shouts.  
Scarlet pouts, stops running, and trots to the bench, chin down. By the time she’s made it there, Niall is back with ice cream, and both Summer and Sebastian are galloping over to get theirs from his cone-filled arms.  
Scarlet doesn’t take her ice cream. In fact, instead, she dawdles, swinging on her heels, scowling down at her feet. “I can’t. I’m-- Seb can, but I can’t do it on my own.”  
“S’alright. I’ll teach you.” Niall gives her ice cream to Sam before kneeling beside her.  
Scarlet looks very doubtful.  
“Can you tie your shoes, uncle Niall?” She asks, very suspiciously.  
“I learned very recently, actually! I have two left hands but I swear I know how to now!” Niall smiles.  
Scarlet lets out a little giggle before sitting down on the bench, tiny feet swinging as Niall plants her shoe on his knee.  
“So you make a bunny ear and then the bunny goes around the tree--” Niall bites his tongue in concentration “--And enters the burrow and then-- then you get two bunny ears. And that’s how you tie your shoe.” Niall smiles, proud.  
Sebastian rolls his eyes.  
“Okay, it sounds easy enough.” Scarlet answers, cheeks rosy from the cold.  
“Give it a try, then.”  
She stays in the same position, concentrating on her shoe and listening to Niall’s quiet instructions, Sebastian giving sassy input every now and then, Niall nudging him every time. It goes on like this for about fifteen minutes, by which time she’s done it on her own.  
“I did it!” She exclaims, very proud.  
“About time.” Sebastian snarks.  
Then, she kisses Niall’s cheek and is off like a lightning bolt. Niall smiles very fondly and looks Sam’s way. He’s about to say something, but she cuts him off.  
“Ask me again.” Sam says, very serious, voice shaky.  
“Ask you what?” Niall huffs, still on one knee.  
“You know. The thing.” Her cheeks are red.  
“Ohhh. The forever thing, you mean?” He says, teasingly, a twinkle in his eye.  
But she’s not laughing. In fact, she looks overwhelmed, very emotional and nodding all of the way. As she watches, he reaches for the inside pocket in his jacket, and brings out a little velvet box. She gasps.  
“Do I know you or what?” He winks, a small smile playing on his lips.  
But he’s overwhelmed too, and it’s starting to show. He opens the box, heartbeat in his mouth, and meets her eyeline.  
“Samantha Norton. Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry my sorry ass?”  
She falls on her knees in front of him, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes, and hugs him tight. “Yes. A million times yes.”  
A kiss becomes a splutter of laughs as he picks her up, lost in their own little bubble in the middle of the park, only interrupted when Sebastian scowls up at them and crosses his arms.  
“You can’t get married! Who will take care of us?” He exclaims, very alarmed. “Mum is gonna kill you.” He says, pointing to Sam. “Dad is gonna shoot you.” He says, pointing to Niall.  
And they laugh again, not paying him the slightest of attention. The other three come closer, alerted by Seb’s outburst.  
“Meh.” Summer looks at the ring and notices the encryption. “At least he got one thing right.”

**

It’s later on that they’re back at Niall’s place, the kids back with their parents, a happy feeling residing in the air and all the way down to their fucking fingertips. It’s been promised to be a kept secret for now-- Sam making each of the kids solemnly swear beforehand-- and yeah, now things are pretty much perfect.  
Niall is playing with Sam’s fingers, looking at the way the ring fits, kissing it every now and then, cackling as she tries to tickle him. Eventually, they end up cuddled and placid on the sofa, her hand on his cheek, feeling like two invincible kids with the whole world at their fingertips.  
“Do you want a spring wedding?” Niall asks, absorbed in her hand. “When do you want to get married?”  
“How about now?”  
“Now?” He says, unbelieving.  
“Yes, now.” She meets his eye, smiling and nodding all at once.  
Niall cackles.  
She pokes him. “I can't wait a second more for you to become Mr Norton.”  
And they get married that very evening, because being rich and famous has it’s perks, of course-- eloping like the lovebirds they are, drunk on love and each other, wearing fucking turkey hats as they say their vows. The whole thing is extremely serious, hilarious, and strange at once--- but it’s perfect.  
Absolutely perfect.  
Their secret wedding will only be known to the band and their closest friends for now, and Niall sends a photo of their marriage certificate to all of the above with a simple caption---  
#Nortoned #Horaned

 

**

Louis feels tired when he parks in front of his family’s house in Doncaster, the conversation he had with Stewie and Matt still playing in his head, refusing to still even after hours of driving and several cigarettes. Not that it’s a bad image, of course. They’re a lovely couple, and if Louis even thought of saying he didn’t idolize them a little he’d be lying to himself.  
They’re happy, trusting, strong. Everything he knows, in the back of his mind, he and Harry could be. And he feels a little better for seeing them, like some kind of weight has been lifted, and for good this time-- like it’s a snippet for the kind of life he could have if only--  
His mind freezes.  
His father just got out of the house to get the mail. He stops in his tracks when he spots Louis in the car.  
For a second that lasts forever, they just stare.  
It’s uncanny. Louis has wide eyes and hunched shoulders, fingertips frozen idylly on the dashboard. Mark has even wider eyes if it’s possible, holding onto the envelopes for dear life, fingertips scrumpling them a little at the corners.  
Louis is scared to breathe.  
Then, after what feels like forever, Mark lets out a deep sigh and gestures for his son to get out of the car, a frown deeply-set onto his face. Louis complies. He stands tall in front of him, only a metre or two away on the wet grass. His heart has fallen to his knees.  
“Son.” Mark says, laboured.  
“Hi, Dad.”  
“Come inside. It’s cold. There’s a ‘Match of the day’ rerun on the telly.” Mark offers.  
Louis nods, awkwardly so. Hands in his pocket, stroking the photograph like a talisman or a good luck charm.  
When he gets inside, he’s struck by the same things he is everytime he comes home. The messiness of the hallway, with too many coats on the coat hanger and all the shoes jumbled together, the tidiness of the kitchen, the way the flights of stairs are always cluttered with books and clothing, the hallway mirror, surrounded by family photographs. His mother’s perfume, mixed with baked goods, lingering in the air.  
It feels like childhood and a warm blanket.  
It feels like a cup of tea, done just right, sipped in front of the open fire.  
It feels like birthdays and Christmases; joy and laughter.  
Except it’s way too quiet--- and this house is never quiet.  
“Where is everybody?” Louis asks, finally out of his reverie.  
“The girls are still in school.” Mark says. “Your mother and the babies are having tea with Karen Payne. They’ve been practically attached by the hip lately. I’m getting kind of jealous.”  
Louis smiles, because it’s good news.  
“Let me put the kettle on.” Louis offers. “I’ll be right with you and we can talk, maybe?”  
Mark nods.  
While Louis waits for the water to be just right, he puts his phone on charger. He decides against turning it on, honestly unsure as to what he dreads more: hearing from Harry, or not hearing from Harry. So he chooses to focus on the task at hand.  
He sits on the sofa beside his father; hands him his tea.  
“You know,when I met your mother, you were just a toddler then-- Jesus.” Mark smiles, reminiscing. “We were so young when we met. But even then, she was very protective of you.”  
Louis smiles.  
“She made it very clear to me that you came first. And that it would be impossible for us to have any kind of future together if I didn’t get that.” Mark takes a sip of his tea. “I loved her. Head over heels, really. I didn’t quite believe it at first. I was willing to do anything for her. And you know? I always knew I wanted a family. So I thought---Why the hell not? But it was kind of abstract and idealistic at the time.”  
Louis watches as Mark purses his lips.  
“I could say that it didn’t matter to me that you weren’t my own from the start, but it would be a lie. You’re old enough to hear it now.” Mark says, patting Louis’ knee, and Louis’ heart stops for a second at his words. “We were basically kids raising a kid, and it wasn’t always a walk in the park, you know?”  
Louis looks puzzled.  
“But I got to know you and feed you and put you to bed, and change your bloody smelly diapers and sing to you in the middle of the night, and soon enough it wasn’t something I did for her --or you. Before I knew how the hell it happened, I loved you. So much so that I needed to catch myself, sometimes. I know it’s impossible, but sometimes I look at you and I see your mother’s eyes-- but I also recognise my own smile in yours.”  
Louis scrumples his eyes up, overwhelmed, lips shrinking as he smiles. He’s trying to hide the fact that his eyes are watering, but probably failing.  
Mark takes another sip. “The first time it happened, I’m the one who asked that your name was changed to mine. I wanted some kind of tangible proof that you were my baby. My kid. Your mother carried you, and this was my only real connection. Of course now, it seems silly. We have endless memories and ball games and plays and little scratches to even count.”  
Louis smiles then, a fond, big smile, one that makes his cheeks wrinkle up the tears lying dryly on his skin.  
“The point is-- “ Mark sighs, fiddling with his trouser leg. “The point is. You are my son. As much as hers. And that means that I will always want what’s best for you.”  
There’s silence.  
And then, Mark meets his eye. “I don’t think being with a boy is what’s best for you, Louis.”  
It was going so well.  
All of the warm feelings in Louis’ stomach plummet into cold water. He gapes, shell shocked, disappointed, almost feeling like his lungs are filling up with water and his brain is spinning and the whole world is collapsing all at once--  
No.  
No.  
Enough. Enough of this bullshit. It’s not fair.  
It’s not fair.  
His throat pulses and he catches his breath, forcing the cold feelings down, steading his trembling lip and letting hot, bitter anger clamber up his stomach. It’s not refined. It’s not precise. But Louis doesn’t care. He’s got a fire in his heart and he’s determined not to let it be put out.  
“Don’t you want me to be happy?”  
“Please.” Mark sighs, shaking his head. “Your sister wants to drop out of school. She says it’ll make her happy. Should I let her then?”  
“This is not the same thing.” Louis says, through gritted teeth.  
“I’m sure you feel it’s not.”  
“Why would gender define what’s best for me, dad?” Louis exclaims, frustrated. “You would never say that if I was talking about a girl! He makes me happy. I can’t change who I am!”  
Mark looks stone cold now.  
Louis scowls.“You’re supposed to be there for me. That’s what fathers do.”  
When Mark doesn’t reply, Louis gathers his belongings and storms out of the house, cup of tea left half-finished on the table. He rushes to his car, puts the key in the ignition, and is just about ready to go when he hears a loud thump on the hood of the car.  
And then, a flurry of footsteps.  
And then, Lottie’s face outside the passenger window. “Where are you going?”  
“As far away as possible.” Louis sniffs, wiping away the angry tears, still fuming with rage.  
“The hell you are.” She goes around the car, places her backpack on the backseat, and sits beside him. “Drive.”  
It’s a bright, cloudy day, the concrete streets illuminated by the occasional sunshine, the breeze whipping and whooshing over and against the roof of the car. Louis brings it to a stop just next to a beaten-up park a few streets away from the house-- a city of tar-black skate ramps and silver see-saws and swings, the paint long chipped off. They sit down on a lump of tarmac together, watching teenagers zig-zag up and down the ramps before them, silently remembering all of the times they spent here as kids.  
It’s weird. Some things never seem to change.  
Louis lights a cigarette.  
Lottie looks at him reverently. “Give me one.”  
“No.” Louis says, instantly.  
Lottie rolls her eyes. “Urgh, you’re worse than dad.”  
“Since when do you smoke?” Louis asks, judgemental.  
“I don’t. But I might like it, who knows.”  
Louis blows out a puff. “Shut up.”  
They sit in comfortable silence for afew minutes, Lottie leisurely pouting all of the way. After a while, she speaks again, messing with the laces of her shoes.  
“I don’t know why you want their approval so much.” She says, matter-of-factly. “It’s annoying.”  
“You’re annoying.”  
“Hey.” She nudges him. “I’m the only one that’s on your side, remember?”  
He turns around, puts his hand on her shoulder, and kisses the top of her head. They stay like that, his cheek on her head and her knees drawn up to her chest, for a moment-- and then, without even talking about it, they head towards the swingsets and sit beside each other there.  
“I miss having someone on my side. It’s not the same since you left.” She says, tugging at his shirt.  
“I’m sorry, Lots. Are they giving you a hard time?” Louis asks, genuinely concerned.  
“No more than usual, really. But I miss talking to you.”  
“We talk all the time!” Louis says, defensive.  
“You literally have a boyfriend that I didn’t know about, Lou! I have a boyfriend and I’m sure you didn’t even know!”  
Louis sombers, feeling guilty all of a sudden, because---well-- she’s right. They talk, but they don’t talk like they used to. She used to share every secret with him. They used to plan pranks at their neighbours for hours, gang up on their parents, start food fights at the dinner table-- and yeah, there was an age gap, but none of that ever seemed to matter. She was his first friend, really-- and he feels awful for cutting her out.  
His home life before all of the fame happened always seemed so plain, so ordinary compared to all of the lights, and all of the money, and in some ways, he feels like he’s been blinded by them.  
Not anymore, he decides.  
Not anymore.  
“That boyfriend of yours. What’s he like? Would I like him?” Louis asks, pursing his nose like there’s a bad smell in the air.  
“Meh. He’s a twat.” She laughs.  
“Why do you keep him around then?” He frowns.  
And then realisation strikes, and at the same time they both say--  
“To piss off dad!”  
And they laugh for a very long time after that.  
They’re heading back to the car a few minutes later when Lottie kicks a stone and huffs at the ground. “I guess I always knew.”  
Louis looks up at her. “Knew what?”  
“You know. Your gay thing.”  
Louis manages to laugh and look unimpressed at the same time. “My gay thing?”  
“You know what I mean, Boo, I mean--- nobody touches their best friend like that, mate.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And those suspenders, wow.”  
He playfully shoves her, faux shocked. “I’ve enough of your cheekiness, young lady!”  
“Shall I talk about the red trousers phase, then?” She begins running. “Or the amount of hair products you use?”  
He runs after her. “At least I don’t have roots the size of England, like you!”  
She looks outraged. But they cackle nonetheless.  
When it’s quiet again, and they’ve halted running, Lottie kicks the floor once more and walks beside him.  
“I was scared for a minute.” She says, almost mournfully. “That you were someone else. because of-- you know.”  
Louis nods. “The gay thing.”  
“But then I shook myself out of it. You're still our Lou, you know.” She nods to herself. ‘It just takes time to realize it.”  
“You sound like H.” He says, very quietly, a small smile playing on his lips.  
She makes her voice low, splays her hands in the air. “Mmmm, yoga.”  
He lets out a full body laugh, but it’s short lived.  
Lottie senses the change in atmosphere. “How is he? Harry?”  
“I don’t know. We kinda had a fight.” Louis sombers.  
That’s the understatement of the century.  
“Not about mum and dad, I hope, because I swear to god--”  
“What, Lottie? Is it so stupid of me to want my family behind me before I--”  
“Yes! It is! You’re a fucking grown up. So wear the fucking grown up pants! This is your life. Live it! You have money! You have Harry! You have everything! Urgh. It makes me so mad to see you watching your life pass you by like this!”  
Louis is stunned at her outburst. “Since when are you so wise beyond your years, Lots?”  
She sighs, a lot more calm, but still visibly frustrated. “I don’t know. I can’t wait to get out of this shithole. But until then, I’m living vicariously through you, Lou. So be a fucking good example.”  
He looks lost in thought. She kind of does have a point. In the midst of all the classic adolescence crisis crap, that is. Somehow, being a role model doesn’t seem like that much of a mountain to climb anymore.  
Weird.  
“Mum spoke to Harry yesterday.” Lottie kicks the floor. “She was coming to see you. She said he was lovely.”  
What? What?  
“For what it’s worth, I think things are turning up on that front. But that doesn’t mean you should wait. They don’t get to decide for you. Only you can define who you are.”

**

Before heading back, Louis finally turns on his phone (43 missed calls, 145 texts. Fuck.). He only reads Harry’s, though.  
The lyric is the first one he sees. His body does funny things when he reads it-- his heart becoming a butterfly in flight, his eyes closing so tight that vibrant colours begin swirling beneath his eyelids. His stomach is a jubilee.  
Harry found the box.  
Harry found the box.  
He continues to tell himself this, almost triumphantly, as he scrolls through the messages Harry’s left him since. They’re spaced out in time, like he’s thought carefully about each one before sending it.

8:34 pm  
Curly: Come back so we can talk

3:21 am  
Curly: We should definitely learn to face things together, you know?

6:18 am  
Curly: Turn your damn phone on!

10:55 am  
Curly: Okay, now I’m worried.

2:04 pm  
Curly: I’m proud of you.

And then the last one, sent mere minutes ago, the one that makes it all worth it in the end.

5:15 pm  
Curly: I love you. H.

As Louis stares at it, a sense of realization dawns and fills up his head. Lottie’s words play in his mind as the words sink in, the words of Harry, the words of the guy who could’ve given up on him so, so, many fucking times but never did, the bravest person he knows, his one and only---  
God. Maybe he should steal a page from Harry’s book.  
Brave and fierce and proud.  
It’s almost like the answer has been here all along, in front of his very eyes, but he only had to grow to see it. He feels like he’s had bad vision for so long and worn glasses for the very first time-- clarity flashing in front of him, a camera finally focusing on the bigger picture.  
He replies then, resolute.

Wait for me to come home.

**

He drives away without a moment to waste, a new, exciting burn kindling his stomach, a fiery new determination alight in his veins and focus reigning over his head. On the way, he stops by a shitty car park and makes a very important call-- knees tucked up to his chest, feet resting on the dashboard.  
Ed greets him at the first ring. “Oi. Where have you been? How did it go with Stewie?”  
“It went very well. He’s good.” Louis answers, rather sheepishly.  
Ed lets out a relieved sigh.  
Louis tugs at his shirtsleeve. “Hey, I need a favour.”  
“Anything.”  
“Will you help with something big?” Louis bites his lip. “Something great?”

**

Empty takeaway boxes. Music sheets. Scattered pillows and guitars on laps.  
This is the atmosphere surrounding Louis and Ed once they meet in a shitty hotel room-- not too far from Birmingham, where the last show is taking place the next day. It’s already late-- the horizon curtained by infinite shadow, the abyss only pin-pricked by streetlights wavering defiantly down the motorway, the silence punctured only by the distant roar and grumble of the cars passing-- but they’re working harder than ever, Louis jittery as he does so, Ed oddly placid and messily-haired.  
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Ed says, for the fifteenth time tonight.  
“Shut up.” Louis runs a hand through his hair, bites the end of his pen.  
“I’m so proud of you.” Ed cooes, fond.  
“Shut up! We have work to do. And not a lot of time to do it. So a little less sap and a little more writing would be greatly appreciated.” Ed huffs, so Louis pushes it. “How your lazy ass has won that many awards when you have the attention span of Dory the fish is beyond me.”  
Ed laughs. “You’re perfectly capable of doing this alone, you know? It’s mostly done already.”  
“Yeah, I know. But I want you there with me.” Louis says, looking everywhere but at him.  
Ed smiles, clearly touched, before pursing his lips and thinking. “We need reinforcement.”  
“Yeah.” Louis sighs.  
He puts his hands in his jacket pockets out of habit. He’s met with the photograph, worn and faded, but yet again, he brings it out and just looks at it. The writing on the back is smudged from being manipulated for so long, the polaroids crumpled but still heartfelt.  
Ed rests his chin on his hand. “You’re in no rush though, you know? You set the pace.”  
Louis sighs.  
“To quote some eloquent Irish bugger who I just learned won at fucking life, when you know, you know, you know?” The biggest smile curves onto Louis’ face.  
Ed smiles and nods.  
“Hang on.” Louis says, like he’s had an epiphany-- “I know what to do.”  
He makes a call.

**

Niall hasn’t stopped smiling since he and Sam arrived at Harry’s house, nor has Sam stopped jumping.  
She’s describing the wedding to Harry right now, hand movements everywhere, eyes wide. Harry is just smiling fondly-- chuckling when Sam ends up galloping at one point, shaking his head when she talks about the turkey hats. They’re here to hide, because apparently, six year olds can’t, in fact, be trusted with a secret.  
(No kidding.)  
Sam’s parents are furious, but she couldn’t care less. She’s just beaming, showing off her ring to Harry, doing little happy dances on the carpet.  
“They’ll come around.” She states, easily enough. “I think my mum is just sad she couldn’t pick the dress and the flowers and all that shit. I, on the other hand am just H-A-P-P-Y.”  
She kisses Niall for the fourth time in minutes. He simply holds her by her waist, grinning like he’s on cloud nine, before snuggling his nose against her cheek.  
“We can throw a party later, babe.” He says. “My parents would want that too. The biggest extravaganza England has ever seen. The royal wedding can suck it.”  
Sam laughs in agreement, but soon is interrupted by a phone call, detaching herself from Niall just quick enough to answer it.  
“Okay. yeah. Okay. Mmmh. Is that it? Nooooo, not at all, are you kidding? This is wonderful. I’ll be right there.” She hangs up.  
“Who was that, babe?” Niall asks, absentmindedly.  
“Ummm. No one. Umm, gotta go baby. I’ll be back-- I don’t know when. But trust me, it’s important.” She winks.  
She looks around and grabs her keys while Niall and Harry watch on, puzzled.  
She’s out in a flash.  
“Do you think she’s already having an affair?” Niall asks, obviously kidding.  
Harry just huffs and nudges him. “You’ll always have me if it turns sour.”

**

The sunset punches the sky, deep scarlet dragging a curtain up over the palest blue, casting the clouds denim and the birds pinpricks. It clambers up the horizon and brings the daylight to an end, the sky already hinting at velvet black, the stars rising like dragon’s breath over the harsh glow of the dying day. They burn incessantly, feverishly, mirroring Louis’ stomach as he and Sam show up minutes before the last show, Vans stomping determinately across concert floor ground, mission-like faces ignoring crew concerns and airy questions of whereabouts.  
The crew and the band do a collective sigh of relief at their arrival. Louis has been radio silent to all of their texts for several days-- “Are you coming?”/“Where the hell are you?”/“Come on now!”/ It’s not funny Lou, You could be dead for all we know!/H said you were coming back so where the hell are you??  
\-- and even Harry was nervous, despite Louis’ reassuring yet cryptic text.  
Wait for me to come home  
When Louis arrives, guitar in his hand, eyes bright, a hint of stubble brushed across his jaw and a grey, soft jumper sprawled across his knuckles and waist, Harry feels like a ray of sunlight has shone down from the fucking heavens, he really does.  
He looks better. And a lot younger, Harry thinks. His heart does a somersault in his chest, because man, did he miss his boy during the last few days.  
So, naturally, he runs up to Louis to tell him just that, but Louis cuts him off with trembling fingers on his lips, and a shake in his head.  
“Do you still love me?” Louis asks, a little hesitant.  
Harry nods, eyes bright, yet the most serious Louis has ever seen them. “Always.”  
“Do you still want to come out with me?” Louis says, smiling.  
Harry nods hesitantly.  
“Do you trust me?”  
Harry nods again, a questioning look on his face.  
“Come on. Show time.”

**

The show, as always when the end of the tour approaches, is pretty emotionally heavy. Every member of the band says something meaningful and beautiful, thanks the fans and everyone that’s ever supported them, does a little air hug and blows kisses to the neverending crowd. It’s a warm feeling, a blissful feeling, one that spreads along the air and up to the open roof of the stadium, tears threatening to fall mirrored on each and every fan’s face, proud crinkled eyes taking in a rising and falling sea of posters and lights.  
Underneath it, Louis feels like there’s something wrong with his heart. It’s filling his chest, ricocheting from side to side, screaming at the butterflies in his stomach and making his throat bob everytime he looks at the clock. Harry is carefully observing his every move, mouthing “are you okay?” his way every now and then.  
Louis nods each time. Harry’s about to ask again, another ten minutes later, when he suddenly spots Lottie and Jay in the crowd, away from where the usual V.I.Ps sit, Lottie waving madly their way and Jay looking nervous as hell beside her. Harry approaches Louis, cups his hand over his mouth to talk into Louis’ ear. Louis removes his earpiece and for a second they just linger there. Frozen in time, the smell of all things Harry flooding his nostrils.  
“Your mum is here.” Harry murmurs.  
Louis simply squeezes Harry’s hand and locks eyes with Sam. She’s in the sound booth, giving him a big thumbs up. He stiffly nods at her, lets go of Harry’s hand, goes for a wee break just before the ‘new song’ segment of the show approaches-- only to make sure Ed showed up-- before lingering backstage for a few seconds, heart pumping in his chest.  
His stomach twists inside, leaving his butterflies exhausted, and sore. This is it. His chance. The moment of truth. Time to tell everyone who he is and how he feels. Anxiety spikes up his stomach, itches his neck, makes his heartbeat pulse loud and fierce behind his ears.  
He tugs at the hem of his sweater, looks down at his earpiece before clambering up the stairs, moving into the lights; from all of the dark.  
He goes straight to Liam and talks to him in a hushed tone. The encounter lasts about thirty seconds before Liam nods, happily walking over to interrupt Harry halfway through introducing the new song segment, and grabbing his arm.  
“Actually, Harry, there’s been a change of plans!” He exclaims, airily, ignoring Harry’s puzzled look. “Boys, have a seat.”  
Liam grabs them all in passing, and they sit down with him. Harry is nervous, his stomach jumbly, his legs unable to keep still. He keeps looking at Louis for an explanation, but he’s turned away.  
“So, as you may have gathered, we were supposed to sing our next single, but the boys kindly lended me the stage.” Louis clears his throat, voice oddly quiet as he speaks. “I invited a special friend to help me tonight.”  
And, from backstage, like it’s nothing, Ed fucking Sheeran clambers onstage with his guitar, and the crowd goes absolutely batshit. The boys jump up and down, super pumped by the surprise. Harry is stuck in place, frozen, sat down with Niall, Liam and Zayn jumping around him.  
“Thank you!” Ed begins, while his equipment is being hurriedly installed. “Um, so, as my of you know, Boo here is like my brother from another mother. So when he asked me to accompany him tonight to make history, naturally, I couldn’t say no.”  
Harry does a double back, heartbeat picking up.  
Louis nods at Ed in a silent thank you, tugging at his mic nervously.  
“So, essentially, this song is a two man show. It’s just Louis, me and this pedal at my feet which is called a loop station.” Ed explains, while adjusting his guitar and playing some chords. “Basically, it records everything I do live and plays it back to you. So essentially, everything you hear will be live tonight. I’ll show you how it works.”  
Ed begins the first notes, recording, adding and strumming at the hem of the guitar so it forms a nice melody.  
Louis starts singing, both hands on his mic, slight tremors in his voice, looking up. He doesn’t dare look at Harry -- or anyone really -- in this moment.

Loving can hurt  
Loving can hurt sometimes  
But it's the only thing that I know  
When it gets hard  
You know it can get hard sometimes  
It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

We keep this love in a photograph  
We made these memories for ourselves  
Where our eyes are never closing  
Hearts are never broken  
Time's forever frozen still

Suddenly, he feels overwhelmed. Tears spring up into his eyes, his throat shaking, and he knows he’s about to start sobbing-- so he gestures for Ed to continue the next verse while he turns around to collect himself. Trembling fingers hold the bridge of his nose as he wishes the tears away.  
You can do this.  
Harry doesn’t know what to do. There’s a lump in his throat, and an uncontrollable bob in his knee. Louis is there, crying right in front of him, and there isn’t anything in the world that he wants more than to go to him, take him in his arms and wipe away his tears.  
The boys seem to not know what to do either.  
Ed takes over the next verse, glancing at Louis nervously. This wasn’t part of the plan.

So you can keep me  
Inside the pocket  
Of your ripped jeans  
Holdin' me closer

Ed grabs Louis’ hand as a silent encouragement for him to turn around and continue.

'Til our eyes meet  
You won't ever be alone  
Wait for me to come home

Louis nods, takes a deep centering breath and turns around, tears falling down his cheeks. The boys look at each other, a little panicked now.  
But Louis pulls through and picks up the song.

Loving can heal  
Loving can mend your soul  
And it's the only thing that I know  
I swear it will get easier  
Remember that with every piece of you  
And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

We keep this love in this photograph  
We made these memories for ourselves  
Where our eyes are never closing  
Our hearts were never broken  
Time's forever frozen still

Louis sings louder now, finding strength in Ed’s eyes, in Lottie’s smile, in Sam’s tight fists; in Harry’s everything. He couldn’t keep his eyes away even if he tried now.  
They lock eyes, wet eyes against wet eyes across the stage. Them against the world. Back in the bubble, for a moment frozen in time.

So you can keep me  
Inside the pocket  
Of your ripped jeans  
Holdin' me closer

'Til our eyes meet  
You won't ever be alone

And if you hurt me  
That's okay, baby, only words bleed  
Inside these pages you just hold me  
And I won't ever let you go

Wait for me to come home

And then, a picture shows up on the screen behind. Louis knows the second it’s up because he can barely hear himself sing as the screams soar so deafeningly loud. It’s an unseen photo of Harry and Louis when they were eighteen and sixteen, close, intimate, lost in each other’s eyes.  
Wait for me to come home  
Harry stands up when he realises what is happening, hands on his face, trembling fingertips giving way to watering wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He’s overwhelmed. The boys are bouncing up and down around him, beyond happy.  
Wait for me to come home  
Another photo shows up on the screen, but it’s much more recent, taken by Sam. Louis is in Harry’s arms, and they’re kissing, holding each other tight.  
Wait for me to come home  
Louis is invigorated by the crowd’s reaction. He’s looking at Harry right now, who’s full on sobbing, hands over his face as he looks at the screen through parted fingertips. But he doesn’t shy away from the mic. Not this time, not for this.  
The pictures keeps showing up on the screen behind him. Known ones. Private ones. Everything.

When I'm away  
I will remember how you kissed me  
Under the lamppost  
Back on 6th street  
Hearing you whisper through the phone,  
Wait for me to come home.  
Hearing you whisper through the phone,  
Wait for me to come home.  
Hearing you whisper through the phone,  
Wait for me to come home.

The music dies down a little to let Ed speak through the steady beat while Louis continues to sing, unwavering.  
“We’re gonna need a little help here!”

Hearing you whisper through the phone,  
Wait for me to come home.

“Come on! Louder!” Ed shouts.

Hearing you whisper through the phone,  
Wait for me to come home

“Come on, sing with him! I was told you were the best crowd ever!” Ed instructs, joining Louis in harmony, and the crowd starts to sing with them.

Hearing you whisper through the phone,  
Wait for me to come home

“Zayn, Liam, come and sing with me!” Ed says.  
Niall gestures to himself, questioning, and Ed mouths “No! Hold his hand!”all the while pointing to Harry.  
Niall smiles, knowing, sits back down and put his arms around Harry, who’s hunched over, rocking himself, crying softly, sniffing and smiling under all of the lights. He leans into Niall’s touch, and his eyes only leave Louis to look at the carefully chosen pictures on the screen.  
Their story. Finally known to the world.  
Liam and Zayn join Ed and Louis on the centre stage, putting their arms around each other, swaying from side to side as the crowd does in front of them.  
Louis sings the next part alone. Steady on his feet, looking happy and determined.

Oh you can fit me  
Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen

A picture of the Harry wearing the paperplane necklace shows on the screen.

Next to your heartbeat  
Where I should be  
Keep it deep within your soul

And if you hurt me  
Well, that's okay, baby, only words bleed  
Inside these pages you just hold me

A picture of Harry holding his leather notebook is on the screen.

And I won't ever let you go

When I'm away  
I will remember how you kissed me  
Under the lamppost  
Back on 6th street  
Hearing you whisper through the phone,  
Wait for me to come home.

The song finishes, and it’s not even two seconds afterwards that Zayn and Liam are tackling Louis, hugging him tight.  
“I’m so proud of you,” Liam murmurs, squeezing Louis so tight he thinks he’s going to burst.  
“That was so fucking epic.” Zayn agrees, cackling as they hold him, the crowd flashing and screaming and clapping and moving as one--  
But then, Harry stands up, and Louis can no longer hear a thing. Harry goes straight for him, and the boys instantly release him from their embrace-- allowing Louis to spread his arms wide as Harry crashes into him and wraps his arms tight around Louis’ waist. Louis closes his eyes tight, holds Harry even tighter as they fit like puzzle pieces, his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, right where it should be, his arms around his shoulders.  
The rest of the stadium, crackling loud around them, becomes dull and quiet as they hold each other, hanging on not for dear life, but something that runs a lot deeper between them, a connection made stronger with each second that passes. And yes, it’s cheesy, and yes, it’s probably stupid to think so, but in that moment, Louis feels like he could live forever.  
Like nothing in the world could flatten this feeling.  
“I love you.” Harry whispers, close and quiet, lips warm against Louis’ neck.  
They’re soon joined by the other for an epic band hug.

**

When they leave the stage, Harry and Louis are holding hands, anchored in the moment by each other, even if they feel like they’re floating, giddy feelings of delight rushing through their veins and blocking out everyone else but the other. It’s infinite. It’s a golden, golden feeling-- an harmonious excitement of the unknown that sticks to the sun and the clouds and the rising stars-- and it surrounds them in more than a bubble. More than a sanctuary.  
A home.  
And for the first time ever, everything feels absolutely perfect.  
The picture of their tattoos aligning when they held hands will travel the world.  
Louis doesn’t say much on the way out of the stage, his thumb wandering across and beyond Harry’s palm, their wrists pressed together, always, always, always.  
But it’s okay.  
Because sometimes, just sometimes, actions do speak louder than words.

 

Fin

 

Epilogue

Chapter Summary  
DISCLAIMER : This fluffylogue is a babygate free zone.  
**  
Here I am, next to you  
And suddenly the world is all brand new  
Here I am, where I'm gonna stay  
Now there's nothin standin in our way  
Here I am, this is me  
\- Bryan Adams, Here I Am  
Chapter Notes  
See the end of the chapter for notesPreviously in Chapter 19  
Niall and Sam get married on a whim and Louis outs himself and Harry by singing “Photograph” on stage on the last day of tour.

October 2014  
It’s hot in Manila, hotter than Louis had ever thought it would be, the steaming air rippling from the tips of the lumbering grey hotel blocks to the rushing ocean flapping at the bay. Above, his view of the perpetual sky of autumn is blocked only by the heavy stalks of the mango trees; scarcely providing any cover from the incessant heat, causing the ground to warm and hiding the foreboding, deep grey stormclouds rumbling over the horizon. All around him lies the quiet, bustling chaos that so often accompanies holiday resort restaurants--- bumbling waiters carrying way too many trays, whistling tourists complaining about the heat and flapping fans across their faces, kids rocking on their high chairs and splattering their food onto the floor-- but there’s no place else in the world he’d rather be.  
Because right now, right here, is perfect.  
It’s been two weeks since their surprise come out in front of thousands of people-- and two weeks since Harry and Louis officially left the rest of the world behind. Straight after it happened, they decided to leave-- high on adrenaline and love-- the burning excitement in their veins leading them to quickly collect luggage and leap onto the nearest flight. They weren’t going to stick around for Simon to call, or the label to find them, or the headlines surely about to surge at them from every angle like hissing water from a dam.  
And so they left. Harry packed surprisingly fast at the notion of it all, and Louis didn’t have that much to take anyway, so within twenty minutes they were all packed up, phones abandoned on the kitchen table, and sat on the first flight to the Philippines. And it was lovely, really-- the whole thing was like something out of a wild movie, or some kind of dream that Louis has only had gulps of prior to this.  
But now it’s here. It’s like being surrounded by pure heaven-- and Louis never wants it to stop.  
“Hey.” Harry says, breaking Louis out of his ponderment.  
“Hey, yourself.” Louis smiles softly, blinking back to earth, resuming his gentle movements-- playing with Harry’s fingers over the table.  
Harry looks so soft right now-- so unbelievably beautiful. His long curls have long since grown below his collarbones, but because of the heat, they’re larger than usual, sweeping across the sides of his cheeks and defining his jaw. The shirt he’s wearing is, of course, designer-- but it’s shimmering in the heat, making the silver in it stand out and bring out the pale of his eyes.  
Louis wants to kiss him everywhere.  
“Are you dreading to get back as much I am?” Harry huffs.  
Louis makes a face, then replaces it with a smile just as quickly.  
“You said so yourself, Curly. The bubble had to burst, so… Now is as good as any time to find out what kind of liquid is leaking from said bubble.” Louis laughs. “Sorry, this has not gone the direction I intended it to.”  
“Do you regret it?” Harry asks, tentatively, although he already knows the answer.  
“Not even a little bit. Because now I can do this.” Louis kisses Harry’s knuckles one by one, not breaking eye contact. “And this.” Louis leans on the table to kiss Harry, who just smiles into it.  
Louis then sits back and carefully puts his now bare foot inbetween Harry’s spread legs. “And this.” He adds, wiggling both his toes and his eyebrows.  
Harry straightens up in surprise.  
“Alright. Let’s pay the bill and go back to the hotel.” He says, voice suddenly hoarse, eyes suddenly wide.  
“I’m not in a hurry.” Louis says, casually, like he’s not in fact doing anything remotely out of the ordinary. “Plus, dessert is on the way.”  
Harry bites the inside of his cheek, attempting to contain his smile within a pout. “Is my stiffy on the menu?”  
“It is very much on the menu, love. Between the hazelnut pie and the banana bread.” Louis laughs, all crinkly eyed.  
“If I get up, my shirt isn’t long enough to hide any, umm, custard sauce that might you know accidentally end up down there.” Harry raises his eyebrows pointedly, trying not to laugh.  
Louis shrugs, a big smile on his face, obviously very proud of himself.  
The next few minutes are spent with Louis casually rubbing his foot up and down the fabric of Harry’s thin yellow shorts, Harry trying and failing to maintain a conversation, and Louis continuing with his movements until Harry’s cheeks and neck are spotted with red and his breathing visually becomes a lot more laboured.  
Eventually, he has enough, and stands: abruptly yanking his chair back, causing Louis’ foot to pat onto the floor and a confused look to wash upon his face.  
“Okay, get up.” Harry says, on his feet, slapping fumbled cash onto the table and tugging at the hem of his shirt as best he can. “Up, up, up, now.”  
Louis is speechless with cackles as Harry grabs him by the shoulders and steers him towards the door, carefully hiding his erection behind him. He makes it just outside the door when he turns Louis around and kisses him hard and rough, tongue dipping quickly into Louis’ mouth, fisting his collar with tight knuckles until Louis is nearly shaking, the rest of the world fading out in a dizzied blur.  
Harry breaks the kiss long enough to say--- “You have exactly three minutes to buy whipped cream, so you can collect on that dessert.”  
**  
The errand takes Louis less than five minutes, (He was not running. No, he wasn’t, you’re lying--) but it doesn’t stop him from taking a few breaths to steady himself once he opens the hotel room door. The sight that meets him there is not expected, but lovely all the same, and it makes the air in his lungs rise to his throat and his head dizzy.  
Harry is naked.  
Splayed out on the bed.  
Hard as a rock; tanned and gorgeous; casually pumping himself.  
Just there. The best dessert on the dessert tray practically calling to him.  
“Oh boy.” Louis says, voice high pitched all of a sudden.  
“Almost started without you.” Harry teases, wrist rhythmically rising up and down.  
Louis clears his throat and holds up the bag containing the whipped cream. “Got your order right here.”  
“What are waiting for, then?”  
“An invitation.” Louis teases.  
“This is an open invitation, love. An all you can eat buffet, if you will.” Harry says casually, still pumping.  
(The bastard.)  
“It’s a great spread, I’ll give you that.” Louis removes his t-shirt, swiftly approaching the bed.  
Harry says nothing as Louis clambers on the bed in front of him, still pumping, slowing his pace as Louis rustles into the bag and squirts a handful of cream into his palm. Louis sits there for a few seconds, pondering his approach, before crawling further towards Harry, painfully slow, before dipping one fingertip into the cream and tracing the contours of Harry’s butterfly with it. Harry’s stomach rises and falls with the attention.  
“You’re a true artist, Lou, ever thought about becoming a baker?” Harry chaffs, smiling, almost laughing at the image.  
But the laugh soon gets caught in his throat when Louis licks a long stripe of cream from his stomach, smile falling slack, eyes widening and dick straining.  
“You were saying?” Louis says, licking his lips.  
But Harry doesn’t reply, simply grabbing Louis by the neck and urging him to go back to the task at hand.  
Or tongue, more like.  
“That’s what I thought.” Louis huffs. “I never pictured you as a dessert kind of guy.”  
“Depends on the dessert.” Harry hums, as Louis licks another stripe down his stomach. “I would have never pictured you as the footsie type.”  
“I’m still growing into my kinks, love.” Louis says, wiping a line of cream across Harry’s nipples with an immeasurable level of concentration on his face. “Trying out things, you know.”  
“Is that so?” Harry says, face intent. “What else do you want to try?”  
“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, the look on your face in the restaurant was priceless.”  
Louis takes his time with it, spreading cream all the way along Harry’s torso, a little happy trail that leads him down to Harry’s throbbing erection and is accompanied by little slurps and moans all of the way. By the time Louis gets down to Harry’s cock, Harry’s skin is streaked with lick lines-- and by the time Louis starts easing cream onto Harry’s length, he’s full out whimpering.  
“Oh god.” Harry arches his neck, thighs trembling as Louis sucks him off, painfully slow, eyelashes fluttering.  
He bobs his head a couple times, eyes shut, making it nearly all of the way down to the end of Harry’s length before gagging and lifting his chin up, looking down at his handiwork (a very, very turned on, red and panting Harry Styles) like he’s just constructed the world’s best piece of art.  
“There. All clean.” Louis says, wiping his thumb on his bottom lip with a devilish smile. “Wouldn’t want you to be a dirty, dirty, dirty boy.”  
“Lou.” Harry suddenly begs.  
“Yes love?” Louis asks, on all fours on top of him, barely touching yet crowding him all the same.  
“Keep talking. Please--”  
“You’re getting off on this?” Louis huffs.  
“Yes” Harry says, desperately grabbing him by the neck to give him a deep kiss.  
“On one condition.” Louis murmurs, against Harry’s lips.  
“Anything.”  
“When you had enough, you’re gonna fuck my mouth.” Louis brushes his fingertips across the edges of Harry’s lips.  
Harry nods frantically, eyes suddenly closing.  
“You’d want that?” Louis asks, curiosity breaking his tone.  
“Oh God, yes.”  
“And then I’ll ride you.” Louis says, almost predatory.  
He sits securely on Harry’s thighs and quickly grabs his erection. If Harry had anything to say, it’s quick to be blurred--- deep breathing disfiguring any coherent speech, soon transitioning into whimpering moans that spread pulses of pleasure up Louis’ stomach and makes him lean forwards.  
“I can’t wait to have your big dick in my mouth, dirty boy. So thick. so hot. If I wasn’t so intent on riding you I’d finish you off just to have the sweet taste of your come on my tongue.”  
Harry lets out a loud, sharp whimper, one that cuts through the room and makes his shoulders arch up. He’s panting and sweating now, rocking his hips up to meet Louis’ pumping movements, squirming and wide-eyed and beautiful and gorgeous and---  
Louis wets his throat. “Are you ready to fuck my mouth now, love?”  
Harry doesn’t reply, but he’s soon to swiftly change their position, grunting, putting Louis under him and positioning himself with his thighs on each side of Louis’ arms. Louis’ hair is splayed out over the duvet as Harry traps him there, his erection bobbing in front of Louis’ mouth, Harry’s hands holding onto the bed’s backboard for support.  
Louis follows each and every movement Harry’s dick makes, mesmerized.  
“Good boy.” He whispers, right to it.  
“Is it okay like this?” Harry asks, hesitant.  
“Get your dick in my mouth right now.” Louis says, tongue sticking out for it, eyes zoned in on it.  
And at first, Harry is gentle and slow, slipping his dick into Louis’ mouth with a careful sense of awareness, barely dipping his hips, watching Louis’ every reaction with parted lips.  
But apparently, it’s not how Louis wants it. He slaps Harry’s butt.  
Harry moans and gets the cue, and soon he’s pounding into Louis’ mouth until his eyes are watering, Louis holding onto either side of Harry’s ass for stability, thick pants escaping from Harry’s lips and entering the air.  
Just before he’s about to come, he pulls away, rapidly panting and shuffling back on the bed, stopping himself by closing his eyes and concentrating on something else, anything else. When he’s stable, he gestures for Louis to join him, and he’s soon opening Louis up with lubed fingers and coaxing little whimpers of his own out of him.  
“Okay. I’m ready.” Louis exhales, drawing back, positioning himself on top of Harry. “Don’t be shy. I’m quite in the mood for a little rough sex.”  
Harry is aligning himself when Louis looks around him, frowns, and says--  
“Wait. Not like this, I hate this bed, I have nothing to grab onto.”  
“It didn’t stop you from having your brains fucked out every night since we arrived.” Harry says, a little impatient.  
Louis ignores him and gets up. He’s soon back, having found a chair by the window to drag over, proudly pointing to it with his erection flapping in the hot and humid air.  
“Ta foocking da.” He exclaims.  
“Alright.” Harry huffs, splayed out on his elbows, a little grin moving onto his face.  
“Come on then.”  
Harry gets up, sits on the chair. Louis is quick to follow him, positioning himself steadily on top of Harry’s thighs, holding onto his shoulders and meeting his eyeline. He holds it just up into when Harry enters him, but then finds himself breaking it, his eyes tightening shut as he gets used to the feeling. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, letting out little whimpers at no movement at all, but it must be longer than he intended, because Harry is soon letting out a little questioning groan and tilting his head to the side.  
Louis stirs, laughs a little, before placing his hands on either side of Harry’s face, and using the touch to stabilize himself as he bobs. The contact he holds upon Harry’s jaw tightens as the familiar sparks of pleasure begin shooting up his stomach, the contact he holds within eye contact unfaltering and intent. Harry’s hands soon move from either side of Louis’ arse to the back of his shoulders, gripping tightly, running his fingertips through Louis’ hair-- and Louis soon does the same, his arms around Harry’s neck and shoulders, rapid whimpers escaping his lips as he claps his arse down onto him.  
“Oh God.” Louis chokes, as Harry leans forward just a little, and it provides just the right angle.  
Five more bobs and Louis finds himself coming. One more bob, a clench of the arse, and a kiss onto Harry’s neck and he’s doing the same.  
They sit there for a few minutes, Louis’ head sleepily resting on Harry’s shoulder, Harry quietly caressing his hair and back, silent until the sun long changes place in the sky and the room begins to colden.  
He pecks a sweet kiss on Louis’ shoulder. “I think we’re ready for “The Great British Bake Off’, hun.”  
Louis winks, breathily laughing against Harry’s neck just long enough to say--- “Variation is the spice of life, after all.”  
**  
Rain.  
Slamming against the airplane windows. Crashing down onto the concrete. Flattening Harry’s hair slick and twirling against his skin; thumping down onto Louis’ hoodie and making puddles beneath his feet.  
“Home sweet home,” He murmurs, following Harry out of the airport.  
But somehow, even the weather is grounding. Familiar. As it patters and groans against the side of the car and blurs the entire sky the same, endless grey, Louis has never felt more at home in his entire life.  
**  
They’ve been in the UK for an hour, London for twenty minutes, their home for five and the hallway for two when it starts-- a loud, bustling crescendo, rising up from outside like wildfire. For a moment, it’s inaudible above the rain, and Louis just thinks he’s hearing things. But it keeps popping up, the sound, and when the rain fizzles out completely for a moment he can’t deny that he knows what it is---  
And both he and Harry stop dead in their tracks.  
Click.  
Flash.  
Click. Click. Click.  
And then, a chorus of people talking and complaining and grunting underneath the weather.  
“What the hell?” Louis goes to the window, and is instantly blinded by a camera flash. He reels back, frowning, before turning to Harry. “Babe, the paps are literally on the fence.”  
Harry sighs. “Simon. Must be. Close the blinds, would you?”  
Louis does so, but not before flashing his middle finger for good form.  
Harry huffs.  
“This is is gonna be a looong day. I wish I wasn’t as jetlagged as I am.” Louis murmurs, rubbing his eyes.  
Harry nods, but he’s not really listening. He’s just turned his phone on, and gestures to Louis to do the same.  
They’ve been MIA for two weeks straight, so naturally, it’s going to keep buzzing for a long time-- but it doesn’t mean that they don’t sit together for the next hour, fonding and reading over people’s various responses, quiet beside each other on the tabletop.  
Congratulatory tweets are endless. From friends, to the ex-closeted, to the out, to fans, to complete strangers.  
@edsheeran: @Harry_Styles and @Louis_Tomlinson So proud to have partaken in your coming out. That love was not meant to be kept locked in a --music note emoji-- Photograph #LarryIsFree  
@grimmers: “So proud of @Harry_Styles for doing this (Oh and @Louis_Tomlinson too) ;-p I SHIP IT #LOVEWINS #LarryIsFree  
@TheEllenShow: “So inspiring. Wish you both the best. #LarryIsFree  
@JKCorden: “Wait what? But what about our kiss? @Harry_Styles” #LarryIsFree  
@Niall_Official: Knew you could do it !! Big Love from the Nortons ! #LarryIsFree  
@zaynmalik1d: “F… finally!” #LarryIsFree  
You can count on Liam to tweet something sappy  
@Real_Liam_Payne: “The Brave and the Believer” #LarryIsFree  
@MrsAnneTwist: Proud. #LarryIsFree  
@GemmaAnneStyles: You ruined my mascara @Louis_Tomlinson #LarryIsFree  
Lottie: “We must bring our own light to the darkness” - Charles Bukowski #LarryIsFree  
@AdamXF: Tattoos don’t lie! #LarryIsFree  
Oh, and of course, their management team found a way to surf on the trends too.  
@onedirection: “Way to finish a tour with a bang!” #LarryIsFree  
Underneath it lies a picture of Louis standing in front of the big screens, a mic in his hand, and tears in his eyes. Louis wrinkles his nose at the image, but smiles at the memory.  
After Twitter, there’s a whole army of texts from family and friends wondering about their whereabouts and such-- more personal messages that are replied to one by one and dealt with tiny smiles and wrinkled eyes. At the bottom of that pile lies the troll under the bridge-- the only one not replied to, waiting for attention underneath all of the happiness.

10:57 p.m  
Simon: Get your asses into HQ so we can figure out where to go from here.

And of course, there are headlines drifting all over the place-- every online webpage casting their view on the topic, sharing conspiracies and theories everywhere and anywhere. Louis only has time to read a few.  
Larry Stylinson: the full story, WITH first-hand proof and sources!  
Headed in another direction-- 1D fans run rabid after a second week passes with no sight of the band’s unofficial frontman & Louis Tomlinson  
Harry & Louis... genuine, or the biggest PR move of the decade?  
And, more recently, from the lower end of news outlets---  
Cheeky! Harry Styles is chic in a green suede jacket and leathers as he leaves LCA hand-in-hand with new beau Louis Tomlinson-- SEE PICS HERE!  
“New beau.” Louis scoffs, under his breath.  
“What did you say, love?” Harry doesn’t look up.  
“Ahh--- nothing. Nothing.” Louis scrolls on.

#LARRYISREAL?!?-- Where, when, how? The full details on show businesses’ hottest new couple, new and exclusive!  
Boyband ballistic: millions of Twitter users rally in support of One Direction’s Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson’s surprise come out; breaking records, the website, and many women’s hearts  
They’re endless. However, Louis finds his thumb stopping on a particular article.  
Why ‘Larry Stylinson’ is just what the pop industry needed  
In a world filled with publicity stunts and managers squeezing every dime out of their industry clients, it’s rather refreshing, and cleansing, I think, to see a boybander couple come out of the closet. Not because of their music. Not because of the way they look together, or the various ways their management have surely tried to cover it up numerous times before-- but because of their status.  
Imagine this. You’re 2/5ths of the world’s biggest pop group since The Beatles, with over 50m Twitter followers put together, and an entire army of screaming girls surrounding you at every turn. It seems the ideal for many aspiring singers-- and, as the X-factors booming audition levels spiking more than ever now, the goal.  
Now imagine being gay.  
I’m going to keep this brief. Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson? Most people on this planet over the age of seventeen won’t give a flying rat’s arse about them, much less their status, even less their music. But the message that they spread upon coming out-- whether it be a PR stunt, a joke, or the honest truth-- is a universal one, one that rips through whatever musical or personal preferences every single person on this planet has.  
It’s okay to be gay.  
This statement has been thrown around a lot recently, what with the rise of experimenting with different genders and being promiscuous forming some kind of fashion trend amongst up and coming celebrities-- but, more than ever, has become fresh and concrete in the public’s mind. As it should be. And we have the so-called ‘Larry Stylinson’ to thank for that.  
But listen. It doesn’t matter whether you hate One Direction or not, doesn’t matter if you detest their music with a burning passion or not. Because the message they’re spreading is good. And you, along with 50m+ people on Twitter vocalizing their undying support for their coming out, should be rallying with the message too.  
It may not be what the pop industry wanted. But a reminder of this message, no matter how quickly spread, or PR led, is what it sincerely needed.  
Louis finds himself smiling when he reaches the end of the article, not even realizing a tear dropping down his face until Harry has hands on his shoulders, lips pressed to his forehead, and arms squarely held around his waist.  
Harry places his chin on Louis’ head. “Okay?”  
Louis is in no position to do anything but nod, but when he does, Harry nuzzles his nose into his neck, and that’s all he really wanted anyway.

**

Clap. Jolt. Heave. Clatter. Yell.  
Clap. Jolt. Heave. Clatter. Yell.  
Clap. Jolt. Heave. Clatter. Yell.  
It’s to this sound that Louis wakes up the next morning, curled up against Harry’s chest, the morning light only just clambering up the window and highlighting the rain. It takes him a moment to realize what it is.  
Paps.  
“We’ve got to do something about this.” Harry murmurs, waking up following Louis’ movement, eyes barely open.  
“I didn’t know it’d be this bad.” Louis whispers, as if they can hear him.  
Harry opens his eyes only to find out where Louis’ forehead is before kissing it, soft and secure, the palm of his hand flat on Louis’ cheek. Louis smiles at the touch before closing his eyes and shuffling closer, forgetting about what’s going on outside before he hears a yell, followed by a camera flash and the sound of gravel being kicked onto the garden path.  
His smile fades.  
**  
When Louis wakes up again, it’s later in the morning. Harry is no longer by his side, but he doesn’t even need to raise his head to realize where he is-- the shuffling sounds from downstairs enough to relieve him. It’s still raining a little, but the clouds have mostly cleared up by now-- giving away to weak sunshine ascending over the grey like steam and shooting little shards of light through the parted blinds. Louis sits there for a bit, quiet, before sliding out of bed and looking through the blinds.  
He’s instantly met with flashes, despite being on the second floor, a flash of a group of around twelve men and women with cameras blinking up at him the first thing he sees . Something about their cameras being already trained on the bedroom window pisses Louis off, and so it’s with this in mind that he pulls the blinds up, tugs down the band of his pyjama bottoms, and presses his arse flat against the window.  
He doesn’t even realize Harry’s entered the room until his shadow crosses Louis’.  
Harry simply stares at him. “Lou. No.”  
“What?” Louis turns his head, bum still on the window. “They started it!”  
“You’re just asking for a butt joke headline, babe. I can hear Dan Wootton typing from here.”  
“Shit, you’re right.”  
Harry’s expression melts into that of a comedic, soft smile. “’Shit' is probably not the right terminology you want to be toying with, here, love."  
Louis detaches his bum from the window. “Fuck.”  
Harry shakes his head patiently. “Nope.”  
“I’m gonna have to learn to bite me tongue, aren’t I?”  
“Why do I even bother?” Harry shakes his head and walks into the ensuite.  
“It’s not my fault if everything leads to butt jokes Haz, come on!” Louis calls, yanking up his bottoms, ignoring the yells coming from the front garden outside.  
“Shut up and get dressed.” Harry simply calls back.  
Louis shakes his head, smiling, before glaring back out of the window and sticking his middle finger up for good measure. He doesn’t even want to think about the headlines that are going to spring from this-- nor does he try as he flings on a leather jacket and the skinniest jeans he can find. (What can he say, Styles is rubbing off on him, and if Simon Cowell hates anything, it’s harmony outside of his hands.)  
It’s about twenty minutes later that both he and Harry are ready to head out, and about ten minutes after that they rack up the moral fibre required to barge themselves out of the front door and past all of the paparazzi lodged outside the gate. It’s a moment of pure chaos-- screaming, yelling, grabbing of clothes and cameras uncomfortably close to faces, a moment where Louis can hear nothing aside from the tempo of his own beating heart, and feel nothing but Harry’s hand in his, yanking him away from the chaos.  
His own little anchor.

**  
“Thank you very much, Simon, for disclosing our address to the paps!”  
Louis wastes no time with pleasantries when he enters Simon’s office.  
“Oh, Louis, you left me with no choice after your little stunt. I had to control the damage so get off your high horse!” Simon’s tone is even, but the vein on his neck is pulsing.  
“At least that stunt we participated in with pleasure for once!” Harry says, taking a seat beside Louis in front of a glinting, freshly-polished glass desk. It’s so bright that he can basically see his pores in it.  
“You know what? Let bygones be bygones.” Simon sighs.  
And it’s quite unexpected, really. Simon surrendering-- and this quickly, too. It makes Harry uneasy.  
“I can’t say that I was particularly happy with how you handled things. I don’t like being blindsided, Louis.” Simon sighs. “You know that. And if I wanted to give you a hard time you know that this calls for a breach of contract. But I’m feeling generous. I don’t want an endless lawsuit. So how about you have a seat so we can discuss what’s next.”  
It’s not like him to be this kind---and, suddenly, Harry gets it.  
“How are the numbers for the preorder of the album, Si?” Harry snarks.  
“Skyrocketing.” Simon smiles like the cat in Alice in Wonderland.  
And that explains it.  
After much bargaining, they do finally agree on a plan that benefits both parties. Of course, Simon wants to milk their coming out, and, frankly, Harry and Louis are not opposed to seizing the opportunity in bringing awareness and spreading positive messages-- but they draw the line at making it all about them. They want, in fact, to talk about their album and their music as a band, and the coming out has overshadowed that enough as it is. It wouldn’t be fair to their band members. So they don’t agree to a joint interview, but allow some questions with a chosen interviewer while promoting the album.  
Simon, on the other hand, is shocked. “I can’t possibly blacklist the coming out from interviews, boys!”  
“No, but it can’t be all about that either, understood?” Louis says, firmly.  
An air of defeat crosses Simon’s face. “Okay, I’ll talk to your PR team.”  
“Oh, and you call off the dogs. I don’t want anymore paps on our doorstep.”  
“That, I’m afraid, is out of my control.” Simon laughs, viciously. “You’re hot news now. Bigger than Britney shaving her head or Justin spiraling out of control. You’re just gonna have to deal with it, or move.”  
Amongst other things, they also agree to show the label and their management in a positive light in all of this- but other than that, Louis refuses to lie.  
He’s done that enough already.  
**  
The interview about the coming out, Harry and Louis decide, is going to be led by their friend, James Corden. Not Barbara Walters, as Simon requested--- they want to feel completely at ease, and that calls for someone they know and trust. Plus James, can always be counted on to bring a light heartedness to the subject. It’s good news after all-- Harry and Louis being out.  
Free as birds.  
As it turns out, James is absolutely thrilled and moved to be the chosen one. Ever since they came out, news outlet upon news outlet have been clamouring the boys about it, trying every loophole they can find in order to get some kind of quote or inside scoop-- offer upon offer raining in to be the one that breaks that crucial story. Everyone, it seems, wants to know what’s going on in the inside, and it’s maybe this fact that makes Harry and Louis insanely nervous.  
They’ve never done this before. Been out for the cameras in a proper, officially-conducted interview. Been told it’s okay to sit next to each other and make eye contact.  
And it’s weird.  
The interview, however, is quite the opposite. It’s almost normal, in fact. They go around the usual questions surrounding the album even debunking some of the rumours---(No, 18 is not about them. No, Harry doesn’t have a facial routine involving sheep cells)-- but, as it turns out very quickly, it all comes down to Larry.  
“So, guys. I have to address the giant elephant in the room now.” James says, very seriously.  
They’re about ten minutes in, and, as of yet, there’s been no conversation surrounding the big come out. Even though Louis knows it’s coming, he feels an electric jolt whip through his stomach at the knowing look James sends him, and purses his lips in response.  
Oh boy.  
But, as James so often does (the twat), he quickly turns to Niall and relieves the tension in the room almost instantly.  
“Niall, you got married and you didn’t invite me. What the hell, man?”  
Everyone laughs, and as Louis does so also, he lets his shoulders go lax.  
(For now.)  
Niall shrugs cheekily from beside him. “Sorry, James. Spur of the moment kind of thing.”  
Zayn cocks his head. “If it makes you feel better, none of us were invited.”  
“Why do you hate us, Ni?” Liam says.  
Niall laughs it off easily.  
“Samantha is a lucky girl, I reckon?” James asks.  
“Nah, Niall found the one is all.” Louis says.  
The crowd goes awwwwww.  
“Shut it. It’s not that cheesy!” Louis says, mildly offended. Harry pats his hand.  
“He’s done worse.” Liam shrugs.  
“You mean like declaring his undying love for Harry in front of thousands of people?” Niall says.  
Harry’s cheeks turns rosy, clearly embarrassed.  
And then, a picture of the night in question appears on the screen. Louis is singing, clearly emotional with a photo of him and Harry showing on the backing screens. Harry, a sobbing mess, is in Niall’s arms, and Zayn and Liam cheering in the background.  
Harry feels like his heart is expanding right now-- glowing and all.  
James rotates his chair. “That was an emotional night for you, Harry, yeah?”  
“Yeah. I--Yeah. It still feels unreal, somehow. To be out, I mean.” Harry looks at Louis. “Free to be who we are, to love who we love.”  
Louis nods. “And we kind of ran away after and didn’t really realise how much of a big deal it was until we got back and saw the chaos and the madness.”  
“So, I kinda want to know, how long has it been going on, guys?” James asks. “I mean, it kinda looks like it has been from the start. Any truth to that?”  
“No comment.” Harry laughs.  
“You gotta give me something here. Someone bring me the tattoo chart stat!”  
“Do you have all day, James?” Niall asks, semi joking.  
“Let’s just say not as long as people might think and not as long I wanted.” Harry teases.  
Louis squeezes his hand, pursing his lips in a feeble attempt to bundle in his emotions-- but the simple gesture ends up betraying so much more than words.  
(He doesn’t care, though.)  
“Fair enough.” James answers, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s talk about the songs. You performed quite a number of new songs during your last tour. How many of them are gonna be on your next album?”  
“Um. Dunno. We just released the last one, James.” Harry turns to the camera. “The fourth One Direction album, FOUR, is available now in any decent retail outlet.”  
There’s a round of laughter, after which, James structures his next question-- “How many of the ones you sang are about Louis, Harry? Give me an estimate.”  
“That’s easy, all of them.” Harry laughs, embarrassed again.  
There’s another round of awwws, but this time, Louis looks fond and proud. Borderline cocky.  
“The reaction has been overwhelming, has it not? There is also a feeling amongst some of your fans that you’ve literally saved their lives, and that are coming forward now. Young folks struggling with their sexuality or going through a hard period with family, do you feel a certain responsibility?”  
Louis looks suddenly very saddened-- overwhelmed by how close to home James’ words hit.  
“Yeah, of course. I mean--” He sighs. “Truth is. I didn’t want that at first, the responsibility. I can barely take care of myself, you know what I mean? I struggled enough as it is.”  
He pauses to scratch his neck, but is swift to continue. “But what I wanna say now, to every person that’s struggling, is that you don’t have to be alone in this and you need all the support you can get. So please, go and get it. There are people out there in our community that are willing to help. And it’s worth it and most of all---- you will get through it.”  
“Check our website for the location of a lgbt center in your area.” James adds.  
“I want to say something else if I may.” Louis laces his fingers through Harry’s. “All of this, it’s all thanks to these guys. So I want to tell them thank you for supporting us through everything and for helping me figure myself out.”  
The boys smile. Harry, suddenly very quiet, looks up as Louis makes eye contact.  
“I have been blessed with finding the kindest, most wonderful man on this planet at 18 years old.”  
Harry suppresses a smile, scrunching his nose at the attention.  
“Thank you for being so patient with me.”  
There are more awws.  
James smiles and edges on his chair. “Guys, it’s been an absolute pleasure to have you on the show. I wish you all the best.”  
**  
The interview ends, and after the long round of celebrations that follow, Harry and Louis are pretty much exhausted. It's with the bleak sunlight of morning that Louis wakes, naked, with his arm wrapped around Harry’s waist and his head firmly glued to Harry’s shoulder.  
He blinks. His skin is sticky and sweaty everywhere it's attached to Harry’s, so they must've been here quite a long time. His left arm is stuck under the crook of Harry’s neck, making it feel numb, but he doesn't mind.  
It's… Nice.  
After a while Louis shifts and realizes, albeit fully, that his morning wood is laid neatly on Harry's ass. It must be late morning already, judging by the level of light bathing their bedroom, but Harry is still fast asleep, his breathing even.  
Louis’ left hand rubs lazily along Harry’s right pec until his nipple gets hard. Then, he holds Harry a little tighter, his right hand beginning to trace light circles on Harry’s stomach and lower stomach until his fingertips come in contact with another very hard, very straining cock.  
Interesting.  
Harry moans, stirring up from sleep.  
“Morning, baby.” Louis murmurs.  
“Mmmm.” Harry answers, eyes still closed. His hair has formed a sticky mass of curls around his face.  
Louis is moving, lazily, chasing friction on his cock.  
“Are you awake?” Louis huffs, smiling.  
“Mmmmm.”  
Louis grazes Harry’s dick with feather-like touches. “You seem awake.”  
Harry doesn’t answer but his breathing turns more laboured, because Louis’ hands are everywhere soon after. Massaging his pec. Stroking his hip all the way to his thigh. Up and down his stomach, all meanwhile Louis grinds his crotch up and down along Harry’s bum.  
Then, Louis grabs Harry’s dick again, timing his strokes with his own rocking, feeling Harry’s every judder and tremble beneath his skin like the movements were his own. It's almost harmonious---that is, until Harry tugs Louis’ hand, licks three long stripes along it and ducks it back down to his own cock.  
“Much better.” Harry coos, voice low and grumbly with sleep.  
Louis feels so good-- so slick and powerful. Soon enough, he's bringing Harry closer to him, Harry’s back squished against Louis’ front, all lazily splayed out over him with his legs parted. His head falls onto Louis’ shoulder and Louis grunts, deeply-- partly because he's being crushed but partly because it's hot, okay?  
Harry completely surrendering is hot. His eyes fluttering closed, his body squirming and writhing under the heat, is hot. It’s like he’s clay in Louis’ hands, laid out for him to explore, beautiful and placid and his.  
Fuck.  
“I’ve got you, baby.” Louis murmurs, chin stuck to Harry’s jaw. “I’ve got you. Go on, come, I know you’re close.”  
“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming-- Hhhhh.”  
Harry whines, drawing in a short breath before coming all over Louis’ hand and arching his back further. Louis slows down his rhythm a little to let Harry come down from his high before Harry shifts to face him, and Louis grabs his own cock and begins pumping.  
“Wo ho.” Louis exclaims, at the new sensation. There’s wet warmth all over his fingertips and it’s providing an interesting feeling.  
Harry makes a gestures toward it, trying to grab Louis’ length, but Louis won’t let him. “Nah, I-- get on your stomach, I wanna come on your ass.”  
Harry complies easily, grinning-- shuffling himself onto his front on the pillow, laying lazily upwards so that Louis can sit on the back of his thighs.  
“So perky.” Louis comments, placing his erection between Harry’s buttcheeks, rubbing himself back and forth with them.  
It feels so good, so tight-- at least, it does before Harry wiggles his ass and breaks the mood, laughing a little in the process. In response, Louis gives him a little slap, not enough to hurt, but enough to catch Harry’s laugh right up in his throat.  
“Come on, stud.” Harry says, turning his head around to give Louis a smirk. “Need a little help?”  
Then, he gets on all fours and arches his back just like a cat would--- so, inevitably, his hole is on full display. “In need of a little inspiration, maybe?”  
“Fuck.” Louis comes right on Harry’s ass.  
**  
“A song is coming to me, love.” Louis murmurs. It’s later on, and they’re still in bed-- cuddling underneath wrinkled duvets and blankets, Harry’s head resting on Louis’ collarbones.  
“Oh?”  
“Mmhmm.” Louis kisses the top of Harry’s head. “Sadly ‘Little Pink Hole’ will forever stay unreleased, I’m afraid.”  
“Oh, dear…” Harry shakes his head, laughing.  
“Shame, really. Little White Lies, Little Black Dress, Little Pink Hole. Perfect trifecta.”  
Harry nudges him, looking aggravated, and Louis suddenly looks very pensive.  
“You’re right. The public is not ready.”  
**  
“Oh my fuck.” Sam is pallid, a sudden incessant jab into Niall’s right arm, yanking him from sleep and ruining his perfect napping position. “Ni. Ni. Babe. Wake up. Fuck. FuckFuckFuck.”  
“Dhchgdycgyf.” Niall groans.  
“Your freaking fans. Jesus Christ. Worse than the bloody CIA.”  
“What are you on about at--” Niall glances at the clock. “Freaking 6:30 on a Saturday. Man. Brutal.”  
Sam still looks wide-eyed beside him, so he throws a pillow her way and shuts his eyes. “Let me sleep. The promo schedule is exhausting, I’m home for once-- let me reeeeest.”  
“Promise you won’t be mad first.”  
Niall opens one curious eye. “Promise.”  
“Okay, let’s say hypothetically speaking of course--”  
“Of course…”  
“Let’s say for argument’s sake that I have a secret blog.”  
Niall squints.  
“That I used for aesthetic purposes only for years. But it deviated a little when I met a certain Irish cheeky menace.”  
“Oh Lord.”  
“Let’s say that account has been found out by fans and there are now bloody unseen pictures of you all over the internet.” She says, somberly.  
Niall looks alarmed. “What kind of pictures?”  
“Not that kind, Jesus Christ!” Sam scowls.  
He buries his head in the pillow.  
Sam shuffles closer, holding her feet. “So, hypothetically speaking, how mad would you be? On a scale of 1 to Louis before his tea?”  
Niall raises an eyebrow. “Hypothetically speaking, I would have to assess the damage first.”  
She hands him her laptop, looking defeated and horrified all at once.  
Niall grabs it, mumbling--- “Fucking 6 am--”  
And there they are. Pictures of parts of his body.  
One of his knee, captioned “prosthetic leg”.  
One with the lower half of his face, where he has like seven chins, captioned-- “Waking up to this and staying in bed despite this. Must be love.”  
One where only his mouth on the pillow is shown, drooling a little in his sleep-- “#sexiestmanalive”.  
He glances up, aggravated.  
She’s biting her thumbnail. “I know. Scroll.”  
One he remembers her taking for once not so long ago, when he visited her on campus and they went back home for a romantic dinner after a few days apart.  
She was playing with his chest hairs and huffing lazily in bed.  
"This is a man's chest, Sam, I'll have you know."  
"Sure, sure, Chuck Norris."  
And she took a picture of his chest-- and now, that intimate picture is now everywhere on Tumblr, captioned-- “#smooth. shall i braid his three chest hairs? Like for yay, reblog for nah”.  
“Well, this is not ideal, but it’s not that bad. Are you always making fun of me on your blog?” Niall asks, unbelieving.  
“No.” She lets her head drop on the pillow and whines. “But if you read it, we are to never talk about this ever again. Deal?”  
Niall nods.  
She points to the screen. “Click here.”  
Niall spends the next two hours reliving his story through her eyes via the textposts she made through the months.  
Met a ray of sunshine today. So hot I might get burned.  
A boy wrote a song about me. I can’t believe it.  
I think I’m in love. Shit.  
He could have anyone. Why would he pick me?  
Okay guys, remember the boy I was telling you about? HE KISSED ME AND NOW I CAN T STOP SCREAMING.  
I have to go home soon. I feel like I’m living in a bad 80’s music video with “Summer love” playing in the background. I’m gonna miss him so much.  
False alarm, found a way. :-))))))))))))))))  
HE S WEARING GLASSES. HE S FUCKING WEARING GLASSES. POUND THE ALARM.  
“Don’t look so smug.” Sam interjects, from time to time.  
“What can I say. You love me.” He says, ever-so-smuggly.  
“Yeah, I do.” She shrugs. “Would I have married you otherwise?”

**  
A few days into December, Harry and Louis go to Doncaster.  
It’s been weird with Louis’ family since the coming out. Sure, Jay and Lottie were there, but that certainly doesn’t mean that everything was water under the bridge and that Jay has magically become super supportive. But she’s trying, Louis can admit it. It’s more than Mark is doing, at least. He’s been giving Louis the cold shoulder, and Louis hasn’t dared to come home with Harry yet in fear of what he may have to say.  
But, strangely enough, they’ve been invited for the week end. Lottie has been super excited, to say the least. Harry too, surprisingly. He finally gets to meet Ernie and Doris and that will overshadow every jab Mark will throw his way, in Harry’s book.  
Louis, on the other hand, is not too sure he could say the same.  
It’s cold, but not cold enough to snow, and the bitter air is hauling itself over iced pavements and frozen treetops just fast enough to make it’s way down Louis’ neck. It’s doing nothing to ease his nerves, and, at this point, he wishes he’d brought a blanket.  
They near the doorstep, and Louis comes to a halt. “The second you feel uncomfortable, we’re outta here, alright? Just say the word.”  
Harry squeezes Louis’ hand and smiles. “It’ll be fine.”  
“No, Haz. Promise me. I don’t want you to suck it up or whatever. I’m serious. If something is wrong you tell me immediately.”  
Harry kisses Louis’ cheek. “I promise.”  
“Good.” Louis sighs.  
“Come on, I’m freezing!” Harry laughs, shaking Louis’ hand. “Everything is gonna be alright.”  
“You and your hopeful nature.” Louis shakes his head and inserts the key.  
**  
The minute they step inside, Jay is hugging them both, teary eyed and wide-smiled.  
“I’m so happy to see you. I’m so happy you’re home.” She pats Louis’ cheek and hair, obviously overwhelmed. “Your dad will be home soon.”  
They sit in the living room, and the next few minutes are spent catching up, the girls incessantly hovering around Harry’s hair and Louis’ legs. They don’t mind, though. In fact, Louis finds it hard to take the smile off his face for the entirety of their visit-- couldn’t, even if he tried.  
And it’s nice.  
“Ernie looks like you.” Harry fawns. He’s on Harry’s lap, jabbing at his fingers with a frown on his face.  
“That’s why he’s my favorite.” Louis sticks his tongue out and winks. “Mum says he’s almost walking.”  
“I can’t believe they’re almost one.”  
“Me neither.”  
“Must have been quite overwhelming to see them when they were born.” Harry says, pensive.  
“Yeah. It seems like yesterday and forever ago, though, at the same time? El was there.” Louis makes a face. “God, I was miserable back then.”  
The conversation is cut short when Mark stiffly enters the living room, lips pursed. The mood of the room inevitably changes and Louis feels his stomach drop through the floor. He barely breathes when Mark gives him an awkward hug, patting him on the back, nor does he know what to say when Mark stone-facedly shakes Harry’s hand. They engage in small talk for a while, but it wouldn’t take a genius to work out that it isn’t comfortable, nor, is it wanted.  
Louis would let out a sigh of relief when Mark finally asks him to talk privately in his office, but honestly, he’s more scared shitless by the notion than anything else.  
When they get in there, Mark shifts awkwardly on the countertop.“You look happy.”  
Louis looks down, sheepishly failing to repress a smile. That’s the Styles affect, Louis supposes.  
“I am.”  
“Is Harry treating you right?”  
“He is. But more importantly I’m treating him right. We take care of each other.”  
“Look, Boo.” Mark sighs. “I’m-- I miss you. I don’t think I ever gone this long without checking in, just to know that you’re alright. These past few months I’ve had to rely on the press to know how my son has been, and that’s not right. I know you’re an adult and all but that’s not the kind of father I signed up to be.”  
Louis purses his lips.  
Yeah, he’s happy, but he can’t deny that being kind of estranged from his family took a toll on him. Even Harry could see it from time to time. He’d be lost in thought, quiet when things settled down-- and, in the past, he would’ve naturally felt the need to be alone. Not anymore, though.  
Now, he seeks comfort in Harry. They don’t always talk. Sometimes, Harry just engulfs him in his arms and lets him sigh deeply. Sometimes, he just needs to hide. And that’s okay. Harry knows. He gets it. Harry is his boyfriend and best friend, sure, but he could never replace his parents.  
Everything’s just become a little easier to bear with thanks to Harry, that’s all. Not fixed. Not everything Louis wanted it to be or anything. Just easier.  
Mark takes Louis’ silence as permission to continue. “When I adopted you, I pledged to myself, your mum and you that I will always be there for you. No matter what. And that promise-- I feel like I lost sight of it recently. You mother not so kindly reminded me of it a few weeks ago.”  
Louis is wide eyed.  
“The day we signed the papers, I felt so proud, but also a new sense of responsibility. Like I was finally allowed to. Being your father means that I will always want you safe and happy. But in that, I also have to accept that you’re a grown up now and that your life is your own. And it’s my choice to be in it or not.”  
There’s a pause.  
“And,” Mark looks to the floor now, speech laboured, “As much of a shock it was to learn that you’re, in fact, gay, I don’t want you to live your life without me in it.”  
Louis chokes in a sob he didn’t know was coming, and the next thing he knows, Mark is hugging him. Not an awkward, uncomfortable one this time-- a genuine one, one that settles Louis’ nerves and eases his anxiety instantly.  
“I love you, dad.” He buries his face into Mark’s shoulder.  
“I love you too, son.” Mark pats his back. “Don’t expect me to go easy on Harry, though. I’m not nice to your sister’s boyfriend either, it’s kind of my trademark. He shits his pants every time we lock eyes.”  
“I’m not worried.” Louis laughs through the tears. “He can handle it.”  
**  
Louis opens the door. “Holy mother of God.”  
Okay, so maybe he didn’t know what he was expecting upon answering doorbell rings at his house at fucking ten o’clock in the morning-- but it wasn’t this. It’s mid-December, it’s cold and Nick Grimshaw, of all people, shouldn’t be on his doorstep looking bored as sin.  
“My house is flooded.” Nick says, easily, practically pushing past Louis in the doorway.  
“Have you heard of hotels, Nick?” Louis scowls.  
“Settle down, Lou. That’s no way to treat a guest.” Harry says, hugging Nick.  
“Wait, you knew about this?” Louis frowns, as Nick puts his suitcases down in the hallway and takes off his scarf-- already, he sees, making himself at home despite not really being invited.  
“Hmmm. No?” Harry cackles.  
“I hate you. M’gonna shower. You.” He points to Nick. “Don’t touch anything.”  
“I’m not a dog, Lou!” Nick shouts up the staircase.  
“Then why do you pee everywhere?” Louis shouts back from afar, already in the bathroom.  
“Only when I’m drunk. And that was one time!”  
**

Despite Louis’ every protest, Nick ends up settling in the spare room for the night. He’s still grumbling about it when he goes to bed, in fact-- something about the image of Nick cosying himself up in their home not resting well with him.  
He yanks the duvet up above his head and lets out a thick sigh.“You’re so gonna pay me back for this.”  
Harry scrunches his nose. “Make it double, then.”  
“Oh God, why?” Louis looks at him in horror.  
Harry bites his lip. “I kinda have like a teeny tiny favor to ask?”  
“No.”  
“Bu-- I didn’t even ask yet!”  
“No.”  
“Louuuu.” Harry scoots closer, and puts his head on the crook of Louis’ neck.  
Louis sighs. “Like I could ever deny you anything.”  
Harry smiles big.  
Louis turns to look at him. “What is it, love?”  
“I’ll tell you tomorrow, now I have better things in mind.” His hand goes straight to Louis’ waistband.  
Louis gasps. “Not with the baby in the next room!”  
“I think Nick has heard worse. Don’t you?”  
“That creep is probably gonna get a boner hearing your loud moaning!” Louis looks alarmed. “Nonononono! I just had the worst mental image nonono!”  
Harry cackles.  
“It’s not funny, I can’t--- He’s probably gonna bang on the door asking us to keep it down and I’m probably gonna kill him, Haz! I can’t go to jail! I won’t survive in jail!”  
“Suit yourself.” Harry says, playfully, his hand travelling to his own boxer briefs.  
“What are you doing? H. Haz. No. Harry. Oi.”  
“You don’t wanna play, that’s fine.” He slurs, flashing Louis a crooked smile. “But that doesn't mean I don’t get to play.”  
“You cruel, cruel man. I hate you.”  
“You love me.” Harry says, touching himself, cheeks flushing red as the whimpering begins.  
Louis fights the urge to look. “This is so unfair.”  
“Nobody is forcing you to keep your hands to yourself, babe.” Harry pinches his own nipple.  
Louis grunts into his pillow.  
“You better get in here, Lou. History shows that you never managed to watch me wank without touching me.” Harry says, voice slurred in a moan. “And that includes that one time we bet on it.”  
“It’s not my fault you’re hot as fuck.” Louis says, into the pillow.  
Harry laughs breathily.  
“I’m gonna take a shower while you--” Louis begins, resolute.  
“You just took one.”  
“I’m gonna take a cold one now.”  
“Okay. Kiss first.”  
“It’s a trap.”  
“Yes.”  
“I can resist you, you know?”  
“Your dick doesn’t seem to have got the memo. ” Harry points to Louis’ tenting briefs.  
As Louis buries his head and ears, Harry continues to moan, getting closer and closer to Louis with each rotation his hand makes under the covers. Soon enough, he’s right next to Louis’ ear, his pants and whimpers making Louis’ cheeks burn red and his heart thump rapidly in his chest.  
“Stop fighting it.” Harry whispers, a hand skirting down to Louis’ ass, and that’s the last straw.  
Louis turns and kisses him deep and firm, a whimper arising from his throat, his crotch getting closer to Harry’s on it’s own accord. As his hands hold either side of Harry’s jaw, they start grinding.  
“Now we’re talking.” Harry says, panting against Louis’ lips.  
“There will be no fucking.” Louis warns, surrendering.  
“If it makes you feel better.” Harry smiles.  
“Turn around.”  
“I thought you said no fucking.”  
“Shhhhh.”  
After Harry turns around, Louis removes his underwear, puts his dick between Harry’s thighs and grabs his erection, slowly beginning to both rock and wank Harry at the same time. Harry grunts at the new sensation, feeling Louis jolt and heave the friction between his legs, feeling Louis’ lips on his jaw and ear as he whispers breathy encouragements.  
Nick, funnily enough, is long forgotten.  
“I want-- I don’t--” Harry pants.  
“What do you want, love? Tell me.”  
Harry turns over and grabs their erections in one hand, jerking them both off.  
“I want to see you come.” Harry says, as the only explanation.  
“Keep doing that and you will, soon.” Louis answers, removing a sweaty strand of hair off of Harry’s face.  
Louis puts his hand on Harry’s and they both set a rhythm, hands intertwined, chests wavering as they feel each other warm and close. They’re kissing when Harry comes-- a loud, abrupt moan leaving his throat, jolting Louis away as he feels Harry unload all over his fingertips.  
“I’m so close.” Louis pants.  
There’s suddenly banging on the wall, and Louis remembers, albeit at once, that the whole point of this exercise was to remain quiet.  
Fuck it.  
“Fuck off, Nick!” Louis yells. “You wish you had this kind of sex!”  
There’s unidentified whining through the wall.  
“Shut up, you cockblokker!”  
“Ignore him. You’re so close.” Harry murmurs, pushing Louis onto his back and going down on him, bobbing his lips up and down on Louis’ damp cock.  
“Oh god, you look so filthy.” Louis utters, jaw shaking. “I’m gonna come.”  
Harry swivels his tongue over Louis’ tip and Louis, wrapped up in his orgasm, is breathless just long enough to forget his own name.

**  
The next morning Louis Tomlinson doesn’t want to get out of bed. It’s nice in here, it’s cosy, and there’s a naked Harry Styles in his arms so, all in all, things could be way worse. He untangles himself from both limbs and curls (yes, sometimes, a man gotta pee), and eventually heads downstairs.  
There’s a note from Nick the Dick on the tabletop.  
Went to work, see you tonight mum and dad :-)  
Btw I’m scarred for life after last night.  
Let’s never talk about it. I’ll bring dinner xx  
Harry joins him a little later, completely naked-- sleepy and cute with the morning’s light clambering down on him. His curls practically look golden.  
Louis acts affronted. “Curly! What if Grandpa was still here!”  
“He’s not that old.”  
“Not the point! Plus, wearing ripped jeans doesn't make him the young hipster he wishes to be.”  
Harry smiles and pours himself a cup of tea. “I think he still rocks them.”  
“He’s ancient.” Louis looks aggravated. “He’s an antique. But not the good kind you collect. Are you going to put him on a glass case, Harry? Is this why he’s here? He'd fit right in beside that hundred-year-old mask, I’ll give you that. He'd maybe even look better with it on."  
Harry ignores him altogether. “Babe, remember that tiny favor we talked about?”  
“Mmmmh.”  
“Well. It’s Greg. He’s been depressed lately, as he got dumped, and I was wondering if you could set him up with someone, maybe? ”  
Louis blinks. “You must have hit your head quite hard on the headboard last night, babe, if you think--”  
“Too bad you already agreed.”  
“He hates me! I hate him!?”  
“That’s not true! Plus, Nick would totally help! I tried and I’m not subtle at all and I don’t know how to make it happen, it’s weird. Greg is such a nice person, he deserves to be happy.” Harry sits butt naked in Louis’ lap, nuzzling his nose on his stubble. “But you, you’re good with these things, plus you're such a good judge of character…”  
“I-- I guess I could set him up with one of my buddies bu--”  
“No buts.”  
“Yes butts.” Louis wiggles his eyebrows.  
“Exactly. Plus, since you’re being such a good sport about this, I promise to try the thing you asked the other day.” Harry smiles.  
Oh boy.  
**  
The next day Louis has a plan, kinda.  
“Oi. Grimmy. I’m gonna set up Greg with my friend Adam. What do you think? I think they’ll be perfect for each other.”  
“Adam? Openly gay X-factor winner Adam?” Nick says, disbelieving.  
“Yeah. He’s cute, don’t you think?”  
“No.” Nick snorts.  
“He’s a little cute. Come on.”  
“He’s-- I don’t know. You know, Greg has been very fragile lately. I don’t think he’s ready for a relationship yet, much less with a guy like him, and you know what, I think it would be a little insensitive to push like random blokes in his face like this.” Nick frowns. “I mean, we’re not fucking assholes--”  
“Well, technically--”  
“Shut up.”  
Suddenly, something dawns on Louis. When has Nick Grimshaw ever refrained from telling butt jokes? Never.  
Louis gasps. “Oh my god, you like him!”  
“No! Absolutely not. You’ve said it yourself-- I’m only in love with my own reflection.”  
“Oh my god, it’s even worse--you love him! This is priceless. Haz! Come here. Nick is--”  
“Shhhhh. No! You can’t tell Harry!” Nick tries to silence him with both hands. “Please, nononono.”  
“Harry can keep a secret, you know.” Louis quiets down.  
“I can barely admit it to myself Lou.” Nick says, defeated.  
Nick fucking Grimshaw. In love. Louis thought he’d seen it all.  
**  
“You set up a blind date?”  
“Nick, relax, it’s gonna be okay.”  
“No it’s not. I can’t. It’s-- no. I can’t. There are so many reasons why I can’t. We work together. He’s my friend. What if he rejects me? Why did you have to do this Lou? Why? Why do you hate me?”  
“Just be your charming self.” Harry reassures.  
“Nooooo. Whatever you do, don’t be yourself.” Louis says, and Harry nudges him in the ribs.  
“Lou, he looks really nervous.”  
“I can’t believe you told Haz, you soggy cunt!”  
“Lou can’t keep a secret to save his life.” Harry comments.  
“Ooooor.” Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “I just don’t believe in secrets between boyfriends. We may never know.”  
“I’m gonna throw up.” Nick says, by the door, before leaving  
“No you’re not! You’re gonna be fine! Now shoo. Go. Get your man!” Harry says, reassuring.  
“Don’t bring him back here! There are enough fuckers in this household!” Louis shouts from the doorway, cupping his hands.  
Harry looks between amused and aggravated.  
Louis shuts the door. “Now, I believe I was promised things.”  
“Oh? I don’t recall. What kind of things?”  
“Things of sexual nature, my dear.” Louis says with a happy dance.  
“Are you sure?” Harry bites his lip. “Do you really think you’ve earned it?”  
“You asked me to play matchmaker. Look. Match. Made. Done. Mission accomplished.”  
“I don’t know about that. They’re not together yet.” Harry moves towards the kitchen, unbothered.  
Louis looks disappointed all of a sudden. “But-- You promised me things. And I kind of went shopping earlier and I got a purple one and I’m super disappointed and horny now and--”  
“You went to the sex shop without me?” Now it’s Harry’s turn to look disappointed.  
“Yeah baby. I was planning on surprising you.”  
“How big is it?”  
“Like big. ” Louis says.  
Harry approaches him, a hand on Louis pec. “Oh. tell me more.”  
“Not the biggest, but you’re definitely gonna feel it tomorrow.”  
“Yeah.” Harry kisses Louis’ neck. “I like it when I can barely walk the next day.”  
“Oh, I know you do.” Louis answers, voice hoarse-- throat suddenly dry.  
“Where is it?” Harry asks, as Louis trails his fingertips down Harry’s happy trail.  
“In the bedroom.”  
Harry makes a move towards the staircase, but halts, because Louis is yet to move-- silent and fixated on Harry’s body.  
“What are you waiting for?” Harry says, seductive. “This booty isn’t gunna fuck itself.”  
Louis makes a little throaty noise before following him-- pausing in his steps to kiss Harry, one stair higher than him so that he’s taller. He wraps both of his arms around Harry’s neck and kisses him deeply and thoroughly, eyes shutting until Harry places his hands behind his thighs and swiftly carries them both to the bedroom.  
They practically fall on the bed, lost in each other. Snow has just begun to drift down outside, but they’re warm beside one another-- especially so as Harry takes care of their clothes and kisses Louis, gentle and close.  
“Mmmmmh.” Louis says, when Harry is on top of him, torso against torso, erections aligned and already hard-- shuffling little by little to feel the friction. “You’re so warm, baby.”  
“Shit.” Harry says, suddenly.  
“What?”  
“We’re out of lube.”  
“How can we be out of lube Haz? It’s statistically impossible- there’s lube in every room of this house? It’s like the number one rule.”  
“Did you once restock the lube supply, Lou?”  
“Mmmmh. No. What is your point.”  
“My point is if I tell you there’s no lube, there’s no lube. Oh, wait!’  
“What?” Louis sits up a little as Harry clambers off the bed. “Do we have an emergency lube kit somewhere?”  
Harry comes back with the glittery lube that they got offered as a joke months ago.  
Louis raises his eyebrows. “There’ll be glitter from here on end.”  
“Do you want to stop?”  
“No.”  
“Are you nervous?”  
“Not at all, love.”  
“Good, me neither.” Harry kneels in front of Louis’ parted legs. “We’re gonna need some prep.”  
“Yep.”  
“Turn over.”  
Louis gets on his belly, sighing contentedly, fully prepared to feel the cold contact of Harry’s lubed fingers. Instead, Harry licks a long wet hot stripe on his hole and he jolts reflexively at the feeling.  
“You always taste so good.” Harry hums, placing a pillow beneath Louis’ middle.  
Harry takes his time, eating him out, hands pressed firmly on Louis’ cheeks to part them. The room is quiet aside from Louis’ various grunts and whimpers, his chest juddering as Harry’s tongue slides in and out of him, his legs trembling on top of the duvet. He rocks his hips up and down on it, chasing friction on the pillow as Harry opens him up with the lube-- fingertips cold, slippery and sensitive-- and feels himself being taken close to heaven.  
“You better stop or I’m gonna come.” Louis pants, eventually, fisting the duvet with white knuckles.  
Harry stops, reluctantly, leaving Louis panting as he sits up with a sparkly, sticky face and a drooly chin. Louis turns around to look at him and laughs.  
“Shine bright like a diamond.”  
“Oh, you think this is funny huh?” Harry says, playfully and then he leans in to kiss him. “There, now we both look ridiculous.”  
Louis preps Harry. He’d rather do it facing him, though, because he always gets off seeing every reaction on Harry’s face- his facial expressions are telltale by nature, and in the bedroom is no different. He slowly parts Harry’s legs, and, after licking one steady stripe up to his balls to get him back for earlier, uses his fingers with the lube to twist and ease Harry’s moans into paradise.  
“I’m ready, Lou.” Harry pants, once Louis is three fingers in.  
But Louis doesn’t really register it, blown away by Harry’s expression-- green eyes vivid beneath his eyelashes, cupid’s bow lips parted and wavering. He wants to kiss him everywhere.  
“You look gorgeous.” Is all that he manages to say.  
Harry looks as sheepish, as always when he’s praised.  
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” Louis adds. “Being this happy, I mean.”  
“I love you.” Harry straightens up and kisses him, peppering his lips all over Louis’ face as he sits in his lap. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  
Louis will have to get used to it then.  
“I love you. Always.” Louis says, kissing back before grabbing the pole and lubing it.  
It’s purple and shiny and long, both sides in the shape of a dick.  
Harry looks at it with an equal amount of confusion and excitement on his face. “How do you even--?”  
But Louis is already on his back, pushing it inside of him with a content hum, and Harry forgets how to speak.  
He allows Louis to grab his hands, bringing him closer and positioning Harry’s thighs on his so that they’re laid opposite each other-- angling himself right and drawing in a deep breath as he feels it move inside of him. Louis holds onto Harry’s thighs to push and pull it inside of him, eyes closing, gasps and whimpers leaving both of their lips-- Harry’s hand tugging at his dick, feeling the rest of the world ease away into nothingness.  
And it’s really hot. It’s hot because they’re both reliant on each other but also independent for pleasure, it’s hot because Harry can feel Louis shifting him back and forth close to him, it’s hot because there’s a slight sting in their thighs and an urgency that neither of them can explain.  
Harry never wants it to end.  
**  
“Why is your face covered in glitter? Did you go to a party yesterday?” Nick asks, the next day, once Harry walks past and the daylight causes his face to sparkle.  
Louis stops hysterically laughing just long enough to say--- “There was a party in his pants, alright.”  
**  
“I think he’s gonna have a heart attack.” Louis says.  
“You’re starting your new tour in a week. We can’t afford that.” Sam says, seriously, trying to fix her dress on her wedding day. Niall and Sam are getting married today, well they’re having a proper ceremony at least.  
“This dress is so you.”  
Sam makes a face. It’s a long, slim dress made out of lace on both sides, with a long v-cut neck and a golden ribbon around the middle. “Meh.”  
“It is!”  
“I felt more myself in my silly hat to our real wedding. Who knew couture was this itchy?”  
Louis cackles. “Don’t say that in front of Harry, he would totally freak.”  
“Well you” She says, fixing his tie, “Look dashing. Perfect eye candy, my man of honor.”  
Louis smiles, and she sighs, shaking herself.  
“Do you really think he’ll like it?”  
Louis blinks. “You know you’re already married right?”  
She doesn’t reply. Instead, she says-- “And when do you plan on making an honest man out of Harry?”  
“Errrr.” Louis says dumbly. “I-- Umm-- We didn’t really--”  
She laughs.  
“Relax. I was just teasing you.”  
“It’s not that I never thought about it.” Louis gapes. “I mean, I don’t feel the need to, or whatever. It doesn’t mean that I’m not commited or anything.”  
“Of course not!”  
“It’s just. If we were to get married right now, it would be such a huge deal.”  
“Bigger than the Royal wedding!”  
“Yeah! And I don’t want my wedding to be turned into a PR anything. No offense.”  
“Hey!” She playfully hits his arm. “All the money is going to your mum’s charity, you ass! And our families insisted on this circus in the first place..”  
“I know. I’m sorry. But you get it, right? I fought so hard to get where I am now. And I think I’m doing a pretty good job bringing awareness to big LGBT issues, I gave a speech just last week and you know how involved I am in the ‘it gets better project’.” Louis looks deep in thought. “It’s all very important to me, but my wedding? Getting married to Harry? I want it to be all about us. And nothing else. Just me and him. Does it makes sense?”  
“More than you know.”  
They hug.  
“Keep an eye on the photographer for me, Lou. I’m side eying him so hard right now. I don’t want to be on the cover of people magazine with a headline like ‘Niall Horan gets hitched to a giant potato’.”  
**  
The ceremony, in itself, almost doesn’t happen.  
Because as soon as Sam steps foot into the church, Niall-- stood swaggering beside the priest dressed in a tux and gold tie-- sees and goes straight to her, swooping her right off her feet.  
“You’re too beautiful for all these peasants. Let’s elope again, baby.”  
It would be romantic and endearing except the moment is broken by a tiny voice.  
“Why do you have to ruin everything, uncle Ni?” Scarlett says, frowning and fed up. “I am supposed to be a flower girl. I’m supposed to lead my sister to the isle. I rehearsed a lot for this, you know!”  
“Oh baby, I’m sorry!” Niall says, putting Sam down once again, kneeling beside Scarlett. “How about I go back over there and we resume this little ceremony, this is your day after all.”  
Scarlett nods. “Yes, you do that.”  
Seb just rolls his eyes.  
Niall says his vows with Scarlett perched in his arms, Sam has Hux because he kind of felt left behind, and the both of them barely manage to seal their union with a kiss with the extra weight.  
“We can always renew our vows and get it right.” Niall winks.  
The reception, afterwards, is wonderful-- and Louis grabs Harry’s hand to dance as soon as the guests are invited to join the happy couple on the dance floor. He spends four songs with his head on Harry’s shoulder, eyes closed, swaying and humming.  
And...it’s nice.  
They don’t really talk but Harry doesn’t really seem to mind. They only stop when Liam and Zayn urge them to join for ‘band celebratory cigars’, whatever the hell that is.  
**  
Comes February, the tour resumes. The mood is weird, to say the least.  
Niall is quite moppy. He misses Sam, who got back to class, she won’t come visit for at least another two weeks. She missed class enough with the wedding and the honeymoon. Liam is short and snappy. Zayn quiet and weird. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to be there. Louis blames it on the hectic schedule they’ve had for years but Harry can sense there’s something else.  
More often than not, Zayn’s answer to anything is ‘whatever’ and it annoys everyone to no end. Especially Liam.  
They’re doing soundcheck in Osaka when it happens. Mike from the sound crew asks if Zayn’s earpieces are alright, and Zayn moppily says-- “whatever.”  
It’s the last straw for Liam. He can’t help himself.  
“Okay that’s it.” He snaps. “What the hell is wrong with you?”  
“Nothing. Jeez. What the fuck?” Zayn scowls, before lumbering off stage and leaving everyone present stunned.  
Liam follows him to their dressing room. “It’s like you don’t even care, Z!”  
“Maybe I don’t! Maybe I’m tired! Of hiding, of not being able to be myself!”  
“What do you mean? You were the one who wouldn’t come out.”  
Zayn runs his hands through his hair, aggravated. “I’m not talking about us, Li!”  
“What is it? I don’t understand. Things were fine. We are fine.”  
“I AM NOT FINE. I’m tired, Li. Don’t you get it? I’m tired of endless touring. I’ve had enough of this shit. The last album was just the last straw. And now? Singing all those songs that aren’t mine? Pretending to like them, like they resonate with me, when they don’t? I can’t! I don’t want to. I hate this! I fucking hate this.”  
“Zayn I--”  
“Forget it.”  
**  
March 18th. The day everything changed.  
He left.  
Just like that.  
Zayn fucking packed and left.  
For good.  
Louis wishes there was no warning signs. In hindsight, he can’t really say he took any of them seriously. But now. Now he wonders. He wonders if he should have interfered. Liam was screaming so loud. It looked like a lover’s quarrel more than a turning point for the band, so he didn’t feel like it was his place, you know?  
“You’re not even trying anymore Zayn! It’s like you’d rather be at the dentist than on stage with us!” Liam had said at the band meeting, and everyone had just stared, open mouthed at Liam’s outburst that had seemingly been building up for weeks.  
Just because Zayn sighed.  
“I told you I don’t want to do this anymore! I hate our fucking music, Li! This is not personal!”  
“Not personal?” Liam laughs angrily “You hate singing the songs I wrote? That Louis wrote? That Harry wrote or Niall? I don’t know how you don’t want me to take this any other way than personal.”  
“I’m sorry okay? I don’t-- don’t twist my words. I just-- You do notice that my songs are in fact not on this album right? How is any of this okay with you?”  
“It’s not babe. You know I love your music, This was not my call! But still! You hate my music. That’s part of me you hate!”  
“No! No!”  
“Then what are you saying, Z?”  
“I’m going home Li.”  
“What? No! You can’t just abandon us! You can’t! It’s impossible! We’ll buy you time, we’ll say you’re sick. We’ll get you a few days to recharge your batteries.”  
“It’s settled. My flight is in a few hours. I talked to Simon.”  
“Without talking to me first?”  
“I knew you would never let me go…”  
“So you did this?”  
“I’m sorry. I swear, I was going to tell you this morning but I didn’t find the courage to.”  
Niall spoke up at that point. “Are you coming back?”  
Liam answered in Zayn’s place. “He’s not.”  
He just looked at him and knew.  
Harry spoke up. “What are you gonna do?”  
“I don’t know. I just wanna be a normal 22 year old guy for a while, I guess.”  
Louis is tearing up.  
“Is it because of us?”  
“No. It’s for me. Just trust me on this it’s for the best.”  
“This is fucking insane. You went behind our backs; behind my back and you expect us to trust you?” Liam is tearing up too unbelieving. “How am I supposed to continue without you?”  
Zayn approaches and put a hand on liam’s arm.  
“Me leaving the band doesn’t mean we’re over, baby.”  
But Liam doesn’t let Zayn touch him.  
“Leave. Go. I can’t even look at you anymore. You’re a coward and a liar.”  
And he did. He fucking did.  
In his wake: a broken Liam and a shaken up band.  
After that there’s no wonder they’ve been able to sing “Spaces” only once.  
Liam had a meltdown.  
**  
Weeks turned into months without a word. And it just rubbed Louis the wrong way, the whole thing. Especially since Liam has never looked this bad in the whole time Louis knew him.  
Normal 22 year old his ass.  
So Twitter fights ensued. It’s true that Louis has never been too good at biting his tongue after all.  
Just great.  
Niall was Switzerland in the matter. And Harry, too for a while until Naughty Boy attacked Louis because no.  
Naha.  
Liam was angry at best. So was Louis. The general mood was awful, the whole leg of the tour was a real pain, and honestly, it got to the point where all of the boys wanted a break. From the tour, from the fame, from...everything.  
Things have never been this bad.  
**  
May comes along and so does their break. At this point, everyone’s sick of each other: the whole dynamic of the band has shifted, and even Harry and Louis have been bickering a lot more as their break nears. It’s inevitable, really: undescribable what extra pressure and responsibilities will do to put strain upon a relationship. Louis kinda expected it to arise at some point, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine it’d be this annoying.  
“You promised me you'd come!” Harry whines, annoyed.  
“Harry, that was two months ago.” Louis doesn’t even look up from his computer.  
“Before Zayn left and everything went to shit.” He adds, in his head.  
Harry lets out an angry huff. “But you PROMISED you’d come.”  
“I came on your face this morning babe.” Louis turns and flashes him a toothy grin.  
“It’s not funny, Lou.”  
“I think it is, but okay.”  
Harry grunts and throws his YSL shirt dramatically on the bed.  
“Harry, please. I can’t be bothered to go to a James Corden party.”  
“This is important to me! This is bullshit. You love James and you promised!” Harry pouts.  
“Yeah yeah, but see, there's something called ‘changing your mind’. You wouldn’t know anything about it.”  
“Well, you didn’t complain when I was pursuing your little closeted arse for four years.” Harry snaps, icily.  
Louis squints impatient. But he can recognise a lost battle when he sees one.  
“Okay, fine! I’m going to get dressed!” He throws his hands in the air.  
“Fine!”  
“I won’t be enjoying myself, but fine! I hope you’re happy, Styles! Fucking hell.” He goes towards the walk-in wardrobe, beyond annoyed.  
Harry leans against the door. “You don't have to be so childish about it.”  
“Says the man with a fucking butterfly on his stomach.” Louis deadpans.  
“Says the man who enjoys blowing raspberries on said butterfly!”  
Louis grabs a white shirt.  
“Wear the blue shirt.”  
Louis ignores his request, comes out of the walk-in wardrobe, and walks past Harry.  
“This party better fucking have Leonardo DiCaprio at it, and all.”  
“I don't think so. You’ll have to settle for Greg and Nick.”  
“Fuck off. Dick is coming?” Louis says, before rolling his eyes and uttering-- “What am I saying, when is dick not coming?"  
“I’m putting you at the kids table, fair warning.” Harry was distracted, zipping his boots up, but he’s suddenly not anymore. “Is that what you’re wearing, Lou?”  
“Yes, it is! You’re one to talk! All your four nipples are on display! Are you planning on bringing someone home?”  
“It's called style. You wouldn't know anything about it.”  
“I beg your pardon, my cup runneth over." Louis raises his eyebrows.  
“I’m sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of your sweater pants being shredded in the garbage disposer, my love.”  
Louis is left speechless. In fact, he pouts all the way over to the party, and, upon opening the taxi door, snarks-- “There’s no way I’m fucking you tonight, just so you know.”  
“There’s no way I’m fucking you tonight, you impossible child.”  
“You’re horny though. I can tell.” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s bum cheek before entering the party and disappearing into the crowd.  
And yeah, it's a classical TV show host party-- golden streamers, balloons of all colours, hundreds of champagne bottles, the whole shabam. Although Louis must admit the party isn’t as bad as he originally made out, he still spends the majority of it moping-- avoiding Harry just as much as he’s avoiding Louis the entire night, neither one willing to bite down pride for the sake of pity. In fact, by the end of the night, they’re still not made up, watching each other from afar while pretending not to, gravitating around each other but yet avoiding being in the same orbit.  
At first, Harry is catty. He laughs way too much to be genuine, is way too touchy and close with his friends coincidentally in Louis’ eyesight, and downs drink after drink.  
But then, the alcohol gets to his head, and he’s mopy--openly staring Louis’ way, swaying from one foot to another, immersed in the lazy moody music like he doesn’t have a care in the world.  
We're going down,  
And you can see it too.  
We're going down,  
And you know that we're doomed.  
My dear,  
We're slow dancing in a burning room.  
Don't you think we oughta know by now?  
Don't you think we shoulda learned somehow?  
Don't you think we oughta know by now?  
Don't you think we shoulda learned somehow?  
But Louis ignores him. The fucking bastard.  
**  
Later, it’s apparent that Harry is drunk out of his ass. He must be, because he grabs the mic at one point to slur/sing:-  
You're so vain  
You probably think this song is about you  
You're so vain  
I'll bet you think this song is about you  
Don't you? Don't you?  
\--And when Harry starts making hip thrusts it’s Louis’ cue to grab his arm.  
“Okay, Mick Jagger. Time to go home.”  
“I don’t want to go home.” Harry slurs.  
But Louis is already pushing him towards the exit and hailing a cab.  
“Get in.”  
“No.”  
“Get in now.”  
Harry doesn’t move.  
“For fuck”s sake.” And Louis grabs his neck and kisses him deeply, taking Harry by total surprise. He melts into it instantly, legs turning into jelly on the pavement, and has just enough coherent thought left to hear Louis say-- “Get in or I’ll suck you off right here on the pavement.”  
“I’m still angry at you.” Harry’s eyes are softer now, more vulnerable.  
“I’m still angry at you too.”  
“Good.”  
“Perfect.”  
Louis pushes him into the taxi and they make out on the way home like teenagers.  
When they get home, Harry ends up falling asleep before Louis even comes back from the bathroom-- snoring, even, with his hair splayed out everywhere and his legs dangling in awkward directions. Louis never thought he’d be thinking this tonight, but Harry looks...adorable. He may be pissed off at him, but it’s the truth.  
Wishing his boner away, Louis lets out a deep sigh and tucks Harry under the covers. He may not know much about arguments, but he does know about the pain of a hangover, and he’s sure that the last thing Harry needs is a double dosage of both.  
**  
Something completely out of the blur gets them all out of their funk. Something, as luck would have it, in the form of Sam.  
She turns up at the Tomlinson-Styles doorstep looking all sad and messy, her hair sticking up at every plausible angle, her jacket skewed and rumpled across her chest. And yeah, it’s pretty worrying.  
“What’s wrong! Hey?” Harry’s by her side in seconds.  
“Can I stay here for a while?” She starts crying, and is centimetres inside of the house before Louis is popping into the hallway too.  
“Hey sweetie, did you have a fight with Niall?” Louis says, concerned.  
She shakes her head.  
“Trouble at school?”  
She shakes her head again.  
Harry guides her to the living room. “Let’s get you warmed up and we’ll talk about it.”  
“He’s gonna be so mad.” It’s minutes later and she’s sipping on a cup of tea Harry made, rambling crazily to herself. “How the hell did this happen? I don’t-- It’s not possible, is it? It’s gonna screw up everything! Everything!”  
“Wait what? What are you talking about, Sam?” Louis asks.  
“What?” She looks lost.  
“You’re rambling sweetheart.” Harry says, rubbing her back and smiling.  
“Guys. I’m pregnant.”  
“Oh my god! Congratulations!” Harry hugs her.  
And Louis- well, he’s just overwhelmed.  
“No!” Sam wails. “Don’t congratulate me! It’s a PR disaster waiting to happen! It’s not good news!”  
“It’s wonderful news.” Louis just looks fond at her distress. “In fact, it’s the best news we’ve had in months.”  
**  
“Where is she?” Niall enters Harry and Louis’ home a few hours later in a frenzy.  
She’s sorting socks with Harry in the living room to distract her from the now, but as soon as Niall runs in, the semblance of peace is broken.  
Louis has a dumb and reproachful look his face. “Sam, don’t tell me you didn’t tell Niall you were here.”  
She just looks guilty and frozen in place.  
“Don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?!” Niall runs his hands through his hair. “I was worried sick! I went to get milk and you went poof. Gone. Disappeared!”  
She mumbles something.  
“What were you thinking? Why would you do such a thing!” Niall asks, but he seems like he’s talking to himself more than anything else.  
She mumbles something else and Harry smiles because Niall is not hearing any of it, and Louis just looks aggravated by the whole situation.  
“This is not good for my blood pressure! You’re trying to lead me to an early grave! You’re not alone anymore, you know that? You just can’t run away whenever you feel like it! Everything doesn’t revolve around you missy!”  
Sam finally snaps. “I’m pregnant, you stupid cunt!”  
There’s silence. A heavy pause. Louis looks between them, fearing what’s to come next.  
Niall’s face doesn’t betray a thing. “Stand up.”  
She reluctantly does. Sighing dramatically, throwing a pair of socks unceremoniously to the floor.  
He tries to hide a smile but fails, and Harry sends a thumbs up to Louis in response.  
Niall just stands tall, hands on his hips. “I knew that introducing you as the mother of my future children was the way to go.”  
And then, he takes her off her feet and hugs her tight.  
“So you’re not mad?” She says in a small voice, buried into the crook of his neck.  
“No.” He laughs. “We’re having a baby, baby!”  
**  
They spend the evening at Harry and Louis’ place, Niall attached at Sam’s hip for the entire time, all four of them laid out over two sofas. It’s peaceful. Sam’s discussing Liam’s distress over Zayn with Harry, and Niall is just counting on his fingers, frowning and pouting to himself.  
“Sammy.” Niall interrupts “I'm sure this baby was conceived in Bora Bora, I mean, I was on fiiire.”  
“This is not how pregnancy works, Ni.” She huffs.  
“I know, but like, we did that thing, I did the little thing and you went wooop, and--”  
“Shut up. Oh my god.” She slaps his belly, embarrassed. “I'm not having sex with you ever again.”  
“Clearly my aim is impeccable.”  
“It isn’t like golf, Niall.” Louis rolls his eyes.  
“It kinda is like golf, I mean.” Niall shrugs.  
“There are balls.” Harry amends laughing.  
“And a pole.” Niall nods.  
“And a hole!” Harry is practically dying on the couch.  
“I swear to god, you two!” She facepalms and sighs. For the exception of her, they’re all laughing. “This isn’t funny! I'm growing a human being in here! An actual half of you and half of me!”  
“It's a miracle this didn't happen before, to be honest.” Louis says.  
“SHUT UP.” Sam throws a cushion at him. “I'm literally scared shitless some six year old is gonna show up on our doorstep one day bleached haired and singing the national Irish anthem!"  
“Nah. Clearly my little swimmers favour quality housing.” He rubs her belly.  
**  
And yes, this pregnancy really is a blessing. For the happy parents, yeah, but also for all of them. A happy distraction, even for Liam. And also because Sam is an absolute nightmare throughout her pregnancy and it’s a show in itself.  
She’s huge really fast before entering her third trimester even…  
Niall tries to be a good husband, but it’s quite difficult when he’s still on tour with the boys and she’s still in school.  
But when they’re home, the four of them try to be as present as possible for her. And she flies to them as much as possible while she still can but the “1D baby” is an event in itself and Sam is often followed by paps now and she hates it more than she can say. And she says a lot. A LOT. Media are horrible to her and she doesn’t take it well -- to put it mildly.  
“They’re comparing me to Kim Kardashian! They put my photo besides a whale with a caption saying ‘who wore it best!’ the one time I tried to do yoga with Harry in that horrendous black and white tight outfit! H, I hate you! And you!” She points to Niall. “This is all your fault! You did this to me! I can never wear Adidas again because of you, I’m huge!” And then, she starts crying. “You’re no help! You’re always touring, and I miss you! Fuck!” All Niall can do is hug her helplessly, seeking eye contact with the boys who look as clueless as him.  
Niall sends her to Harry and Louis’ often because her hormones are driving her a little crazy. Half of the time Sam is fallen out with him (they have yelling wars across the house) and half of the time they're making out on the sofa. And Niall feels so helpless because he literally has no idea of what's going on but he's frustrated and madly in love and scrambling around trying to help with everything.  
Most of the time she’s either, eating, ugly crying for no reason or bitching about something.  
One night on Harry’s couch, when she’s almost 8 months pregnant, she chooses the latter.  
“Those motherhood magazines are bullshit.” She throws one on the floor dramatically. “They don’t tell you about the real stuff or else no one in their right mind would ever birth another baby again. And humanity will go extinct. Just like that. They lure you in with cute little outfits but It’s just a big conspiracy against women.”  
Harry smiles. “Like what?”  
“Like, I haven’t seen my pussy in 3 months.”  
Harry snorts.  
“You think I’m joking? I’m not. It’s scary. I have no idea what’s going on down there.”  
“Jesus Christ.”  
“Like when I need a trim, I have to go blind. And it’s bloody scary, Haz.”  
“Why don’t you ask Niall for a helping hand then?”  
“Like I would ever let that man with a sharp object anywhere near my vajayjay. Get real, please.”  
“Come on, it can’t be that bad!”  
“Niall call it his ‘tropical rainforest’. I am this close to filing for divorce.”  
Harry cackles. “He loves you, it’s cute.”  
“You don't know what it's like, mister twig-leg squeaky clean Styles.” She mopes. “Pass the ice-cream. I need to mourn. And I can’t drink.”  
She holds her spoon, mouth full. “In memory of my beautiful coochie. It was nice knowing ya.”  
“Cheers.”  
They cling spoons.  
“You have no filter anymore, it’s fascinating.” Harry comments.  
Sam delves her spoon further into the ice cream. “Shut up, I want chicken wings now.”  
Harry makes a face.  
“Well give me that.” He gestures towards the ice cream but she holds it hostage, almost like her life depends on it. “Oookay then. How about I cook you something healthy instead?”  
She gives him a ‘betrayed’ look.  
“Do not stand between me and my chicken wings. I’m serious. I’m convinced that’s why Niall is visiting his family right now. His ears are still ringing from our last fight about it.”  
Louis enters the room. “Don’t argue with mumzilla, Harry, it’s useless. Let her have the wings.”  
“THANK YOU.”  
Harry gives Louis an unimpressed look.  
“We said we’d take care of her and Horan Jr here. because she can’t fly with Niall in her condition. That’s not good advice, Louis.” Harry turns to Sam and rubs her belly. “Let’s do some yoga instead.”  
Louis makes a full body laugh. “Proceed at your own risk. I’ll be at McDonalds fetching the wings for my godson or daughter.”  
“Good man.” She nods.  
Later, when she’s satiated, Louis gives her a foot massage and she makes loud noises all of the way through it.  
“My mum always appreciated them when she was pregnant with my siblings.” Louis explains.  
“Did she have Shrek feet too?”  
“You don’t have Shrek feet, Sam!”  
“When I put my feet down, my toes don’t touch the ground anymore, what do you call that, Lou?”  
“Water retention.”  
“Meh.”  
“You’re so moody since you entered your third trimester.”  
“Well I’m about to push a watermelon through my bloody cunt, so I think I’m allowed.”  
“Yes you are, love.”  
“Plus I’m not gross sobbing today. I call that a win.”  
They high five and the sudden movement makes her burp-- but she’s not even phased about it. All she has to offer Louis is a shrug.  
**  
Now that she’s really really big, Sam’s at the house pretty much all of the time, until Niall gets back, so when she’s not, Harry and Louis like to make the most out of things.  
Or, in other words, have kitchen sex.  
“Chin. Up.” Harry mumbles, lips warm against Louis’.  
Louis edges back a little before cocking his chin upwards, allowing Harry to place strong hands on either side of his neck and to shower deep kisses there. He closes his eyes as he feels Harry press his lips strongly to the skin there, and, eventually, lets his chin drop once more, so that his head rests on Harry’s shoulder.  
“Up.” Harry repeats, guiding Louis’ chin up with a firm index finger.  
Louis fights a smile and complies, eyes closed as Harry kisses him everywhere on his neck, lips fast but firm, Louis’ Adam’s apple bobbing with the attention. But after a while, it begins to tickle, and Louis just can’t remain still- chin edging down again, eyelashes brushing against Harry’s collarbone.  
“Lou.” Harry says, trying to be serious, but failing as a smile tugs at his lips.  
Louis laughs at his expression before nudging his nose into Harry’s shoulder and kissing him there as some kind of apology. Harry shakes his head, squats so that he can kiss Louis from where his head is dipped, before lifting him onto the table and kissing his neck again.  
“Ooh.” Louis shudders at the attention as his back touches the top of the table, and he finds himself nakedly sprawled over it.  
“Shh.” Harry mumbles, before pressing his lips to Louis’ stomach-- “M’trying to be romantic here.”  
“Sorry.” Louis breathily laughs. “I just can’t stay still. I’m fidgety today.”  
“Yeah.” Harry grumbles, against Louis’ skin-- “I can see that.”  
Louis laughs and tips his head back as Harry makes his way down to the top of his legs, still pressing kisses, ignoring Louis as he shuffles, trying to make himself comfortable below him. Harry lets out a sigh as he parts Louis’ legs, content between them as he begins placing kisses from the thigh upwards-- struggling to ignore the gulps and giggles Louis lets out in response.  
“I just feel really jittery.” Louis breathes, giggling. “Sorry. Everything is funny.”  
Harry lets out a pointed exhale through his nostrils before pressing a kiss right at the base of Louis’ cock, trying not to smirk as Louis’ smile instantly disappears in the place of a gasp.  
“Shhh.” Harry murmurs, as Louis begins shuffling once more.  
“Sorry.” Louis begins giggling once more. “I can’t help it, Haz, I’m just really--”  
“Shhh.”  
Big hands grip either side of Louis’ ass and tilt them upwards, so that his legs are in the air, and his hole is in reach and parting because of the draft. Louis shudders and gulps, suddenly serious, eyes wide as Harry purposefully lets out another nose exhale and sinks to his knees.  
“I think I’m tipsy.” Louis blurts, eyes extremely wide.  
Harry looks up. “Do you want to stop?”  
Louis meets his eye and shakes his head, a small smile breaking onto his lips once more.  
Harry holds eye contact for a few seconds before closing his eyes and pressing kisses all the way up the arch of Louis’ ass, right next to his hole, holding Louis’ legs up by the thighs with either hand. Louis is suddenly breathless, silent and mesmerized, head dipped down as he watches, eyes shutting tight as Harry presses one square kiss right over his hole.  
He doesn’t move. In that moment, he’s not even sure if he breathes.  
Harry holds his position for a few seconds, tempting, before moving his chin up, so that his lips ghost over Louis’ hole and Louis lets out a high-pitched, dejected whine. He then moves his chin down again, so that his lips brush downwards against it, and repeats this, up down up down up down, until Louis is practically heaving his hips up to increase the contact.  
Harry chuckles and holds Louis’ hips still. “Heyyyyy.”  
Louis whines and pouts, letting out tiny gasps, shaking his head as he tries to get Harry’s lips to meet him again. Harry watches this for a few seconds before playing nice, dipping his head down and licking one big stripe down the curve of Louis’ ass.  
Lou gasps, loud and long, before looking at Harry accusingly.  
Harry laughs this time before replacing his tongue there and continuing the movement, a little faster, holding Louis still until his legs begin to shake and he begins to hit the table with the back of his hand in anticipation. He’s a jumbling mess-- the top of his chest and neck red, his head moving from side to side, his toes curling up in the air as Harry continues to rise and fall against Louis, eyes closed, feeling Louis jut and tremble beneath him.  
“Harry. Harry. Harry.” Louis pants, hands moving to either side of Harry’s face, easing him to a stop. “I’m going to come. Stop. Stop.”  
Harry complies and stands up, grinning proudly, watching Louis pant in awe, legs eventually ceasing their shaking movements. He then grabs his own cock, beginning to pump as Louis watches with wide eyes, one hand still residing on Louis’ thigh.  
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Harry asks, eyes shutting.  
God. He’s never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life.  
“Is that even a question?” Louis asks, mouth dry.  
**  
They’re out shopping for the nursery. Niall asked them to go for him amid Sam drama and a growing list of weird cravings, and they’re discussing their schedule for the next few days leading up to Christmas now that the tour is over and the promo is almost done with.  
“I’m not going on a double date with Nick and your ex, H!” Louis looks appalled. Between the pink strollers and the green plushies, it’s really hard to take him seriously.  
“Greg is not my ex, Jesus. I don’t have exes, Lou.” Harry practically beams. “Only got my boo.”  
As Harry kisses him on the noise, Louis scowls. “You kissed him!”  
“No tongue!” Harry dismisses, the back of his arms on Louis shoulders.  
“SDKCFODKIODIC DO NOT REMIND ME! THAT IMAGE WILL NEVER LEAVE MY BRAIN NOW!”  
Harry just laughs.  
“Nobody touches you, alright. I has to be like a law, or something.” Louis looks down, playing nervously with his fringe.  
“Or something.” Harry bites his lip.  
“I’m not kidding.” Louis looks up. “It’s like urgh, I can’t explain it. I know it’s not cute, alright? I know that. But it’s like, I just can’t. So please don’t remind me.”  
“Alright. Sorry. I didn’t know it was such a sore spot for you.”  
“It is. Can you drop it now?”  
“You’re cute.” Harry teases.  
“I’m not. I’m manly and rugged--you say so all the time.”  
“And cute. And possessive. And smol.”  
“No. And no. and fuck you.”  
“You realise that Greg and Nick are pretty much together now, so there’s no need to be jealous right?”  
Louis rolls his eyes. “For the love of god, I’m not jealous.”  
Harry snorts, hard. “Okay, prove it then. Go on a double date with Greg and Nick!”  
“I just don’t like to be reminded of a time we weren’t together, that’s all.”  
“Awwww. See. Cute.”  
“That-” Louis points to a baby outfit “Unlike me, is cute. And I’ll think about it. If I end up killing him you can only blame yourself and I’m not letting a grieving Nick live at our house, fair warning. ”  
**  
They host a Christmas/Birthday Party. All of Harry’s and Louis’ family are there, along with Nick and Greg and Sam. Everyone but Niall. He is stuck in a snowstorm in Ireland and he couldn’t be there on time.  
Sam took it well. Louis overheard her last loving words to him on the phone.  
“I don’t care if Mount Everest fell over your bleached head, this is unacceptable! By the way, I saw a fan pic of you at the airport earlier so go and fucking renew your hair dye while you’re at it, you spoon!”  
Her mood does improve at some point, exchanging cute stories with Jay and Anne over crackers and copious amounts of Yorkshire puddings. She’s about to say something when she winces.  
“Are you alright, dear?” Jay asks concerned.  
“Yeah, yeah. Probably ate too much, that’s all.”  
Jay squints, but doesn’t comment. The problem doesn’t arise again until minutes later, when Louis is about to blow out his birthday candles--  
“Oh my god! Nononononononono!” A voice - Sam’s - shouts in the background.  
(All eyes are on her in an instant and Louis feels a little left out, all his candles still lit and all.)  
“Her water broke.” Jay says, calmly.  
Harry is instantly thrown into a panic. “Oh god what should we do? Do you need towels, boiling water?”  
“Call an ambulance, Harry!” Sam yells. “I’m not gonna deliver this baby in your living room! Louis, stop pouting! I need you! Haz is useless in a crisis.”  
And well, she’s not wrong, Harry looks transfixed. Some things just never change.  
Jay sighs. “Mark, call the ambulance. Lottie, watch the kids. Harry, call Niall. Now.”  
Sam sits down on the floor, almost crying, holding Louis’ hand. “What am I gonna do Lou? I can’t do this on my own I just can’t--”  
It’s chaos. Everyone is screaming, crowding around her like it’s some big Christmas entertainment.  
“I’ll be there okay! You’re not alone. Everything is gonna be alright.”  
Sam is huffing and red, puffing and clasping onto Louis’ hand until her knuckles turn white.  
He winces.  
“Don’t you fucking dare tell me it hurts, Lou.” She warns.  
Jay is on the other side of her, soothing and calming, helping her breathe.  
“The ambulance will be here in five.” Mark informs them.  
“How is she gonna push that football out of her tiny coochie? Nick asks, aloud.  
“Do I ask how Greg fits his dick in your non-existent tooshie, Nick? Do I?” Sam screams.  
Jay looks conflicted, it’s evident she’s not too fond of such crude language around the kids but she sure knows when to shut it too.  
**  
Jay goes with Louis and Sam in the ambulance, Harry follows them to the hospital. Harry finally gets ahold of Niall and tries to explain the situation as best he can, but Niall is frantic.  
And in the ambulance, Sam is frantic too.  
“It’s too early! This baby is not cooked yet! I’m not ready! No I can’t I’m not ready, we didn’t even choose a name yet!”  
“Listen to me. I’ve this more times than I can count. Women have been doing this from the beginning of time. You can do this, alright?” Jay says, a hand on Sam’s cheek, and Louis is grateful that his mum is here.  
Sam nods, a little calmer.  
“Now breathe, honey.”  
**  
Louis holds her hand through all of it. The only thing helping through the pain is the constant stream of curses that goes out of her mouth. All of them involve either leprechauns or blond fuckers. Sometimes she just rambles asking the nurse to just ‘push it back’.  
All Louis can do is keep saying--- “He’s on his way, he’ll be there, it’s gonna be okay.”  
But Niall arrives too late, frantic and pale-faced.  
“Did I miss it? Did I? Update me!”  
Niall walks in the room and stops in his tracks, instantly silenced because what he sees in front of him is so overwhelming that he can’t talk anymore.  
There are two babies in her arms.  
“Two?” He asks, incredulous.  
“Surprise?” She jokes, hopeful, looking happy and exhausted all at once.  
He comes closer, sits on the bed, puts his arm around her, kisses the top of her head.  
“Hey little ones, meet daddy.” Sam says, oh so so soft.  
Niall’s lip quiver as he clears his throat and takes the first one in his arms. “Hey munchkin.”  
“We made a boy and a girl.” Sam says, eyes watery. “Can you believe it?”  
Niall looks at her, so grateful.  
“I love you.”  
She smiles and kisses him.  
“Now take your son, I need to feed your daughter.”  
She then proceed to feed her, wincing because breastfeeding hurts at first, before feeding her boy and then letting everyone come back in.  
“We’re gonna have to name them at some point, babe. Or else they’re gonna be called Thing One and Thing Two and knowing us it’s gonna stick.” She jokes.  
“I always said I’ll name our first born after Louis babe.” Niall says.  
“What?” Louis gets up. “You can’t be serious. We already share a birthday, mate, I’m the godfather to one of them, your boy can’t be named after me, it’s weird!”  
“Lou has a point.” Sam says.  
“How about Lily for your girl?” Harry offers. “It’s close enough.”  
“Lily.” She seems to ponder for a bit. “I like it. A lot, actually.”  
“One down, one to go!” Niall says. “I always liked Hugo for a boy.”  
“Hugo Horan.” She ponders again “It’s a strong name.”  
“Lily and Hugo, welcome to the world.” Harry coos. Louis holds his hand inside of his hoodie pocket.  
Soon enough, Sam’s siblings join in on the fun.  
Seb is unsurprisingly not impressed. “Lily looks like a potato.”  
“Shut it, Seb. My beautiful girl does not look like a vegetable.” Niall takes his daughter back, and uses a horrible little voice notorious with parents and grandparents alike. “No she doesn’t, no she doesn’t. She has her mum’s eyes, and my chin.”  
Seb then looks suspiciously at Hugo. “Why is he blond, Uncle Niall? Are you sure you’re the father?”  
Sam hits him over the head. “Ow! But he legit looks like me though, except he’s blond! Why did you clone me?”  
“Oh no, Seb, I assure you you’re one of a kind.” Louis interjects.  
The next few hours are filled with a changing cast of friends and family coming over to see the babies, with the nurses getting very angry over the amount of people crowding the room, and Sam getting more and more exhausted by the minute. Eventually, she dozes off, and in the quiet peace of the late hours Harry, Louis and Niall stay up to pick up the pieces.  
“I feel like Superman.” Niall says, quietly, playing with Hugo’s tiny fist.  
“How so?” Harry asks, Lily in his arms.  
“I created two whole humans.”  
Louis huffs.  
Lily starts crying.  
“No, no baby, please, let mummy sleep for a while.” Niall pleads, but Hugo starts crying too.  
“Where is Superman now?” Louis mocks, coming down the window sill where he was perched on.  
He takes Lily from Harry’s hands, like the expert he is, puts her down in her plastic crib then puts Hugo there too, in the same one, and starts singing softly to them both. It’s “Somewhere Only We Know”. After a few moments, the other two join in on the singing too.  
The babies eventually quiet down.  
In the seconds that follow, Harry looks so proud of his boy and it's in that precise moment that Harry definitely decides he wants kids with Louis. (It’s a lie though, because as soon as Sam said she was pregnant really a ding sounded in his head.)  
Niall claps their backs once the babies are asleep, satisfied.  
“It takes a village they say. Good job, godfathers.”  
And at that, well, Harry looks very happy.  
**  
2016 comes and they can finally take the break they deserve. A Hiatus, Harry calls it. Their contract is very much expiring in March and they can finally be rid of Simon and co. Time for a new beginning. The universe is expanding, really, at that prospect.  
They have so much time on their hands.  
It’s nice.  
They can finally get around to do things they wanted to do for so long. Travelling, seeing their families, you name it. But one of the first things they do is take up Sam’s siblings on a promise Louis made a long time ago, which is an afternoon of fun.  
They take the kids from their Nanny Blandine to go play football, and, as always, Harry is catastrophic. It’s gotten to the point where Louis can’t even make up excuses for it anymore. He’s just--- awful.  
Harry isn’t the only one that can’t play, however--- Hux, in all respects, literally cannot take part. He's’ too fragile to. His joints dislocate easily and he can't run around as much as the other kids,which makes him positively precious in Louis’ book.  
So Louis stays in the sideline with him, biting back the need to play himself.  
“I want to play footsbal too.” Huxley pouts.  
“Hey, buddy, none of that. Nobody is left out today, okay? We can have more fun than them, yeah?” Louis nudges him. “I bet none of them are cool enough to eat ice cream in the middle of january.”  
Harry notices them from afar. Louis’ movements-- careful and gentle, kissing the top of Hux’s head as he drops his ice cream all over the bench-- cause Harry’s stomach to do a backflip.  
It’s not for the first time.

**  
That night, Harry is very pensive, splayed lazily on the couch watching tv. They’re both exhausted.  
Louis lets out a deep, content exhale, and tips his head down to press a kiss against Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s head is pressed into his thigh as of now, a cartoon flashing it’s vivid colours across the television, coaxing his eyes shut and causing his movements to still. Although neither of them are asleep, their breathing patterns are soft and uninterrupted, not too unlike the gentle whoosh and heave of the wind that presses against the bare window panes and travels along the barren winter roads outside.  
He lets out another exhale, closes his eyes, rolls his head around on his shoulders. Harry is quiet and tender in front of him, fingertips grazing back and forth against Louis’ skin. And Louis is careful with Harry too-- carding his fingertips through the locks of hair that flop and camber across the back of Harry’s neck, playing with each soft curl as it comes. He’s sat on the sofa right now, Harry inbetween his legs-- and nothing could possibly be more peaceful.  
He stops messing with Harry’s hair to take a sip of tea, and can’t help the smile that crosses his face when Harry lets out a dejected whine and glare in response. The look Harry gives him is nowhere close to the border of menacing, but it doesn’t transition into an expression of pure bliss until Louis’ hands sink into the roots of his hair once more.  
“S’my favourite part.” Harry says, sleepily, as the cartoon suddenly becomes a lot more blue, and the characters stop their mad goose chase to look up at the stars.  
Louis watches it with him for a few seconds, mesmerized, before moving his glance down to Harry again and taking him all in-- the long eyelashes, the pale eyes, the squished up face against the slender palm. The curls, messy and long, sweeping down his nose and ending just at the side of his cheekbone in some places, just above his shoulders in others. The concentrated, parted lips, the slow, steady blink that accompanies them.  
After a while, Harry looks up. His eyelashes flutter as he takes Louis in in return-- expression teetering on amused, hand coming up to rest on his chin. Louis says nothing. He’s simply looking at Harry, the smallest of smiles on his face, staring him out until Harry chuckles and retreats. He shakes his head, bashful, batting Louis away, but Louis swoops down and kisses him at least on the cheek, on the nose, on the chin before Harry manages to cease his movements.  
“Stop.” He laughs, embarrassed.  
It’s in this moment that Louis reasons that Harry Styles is the weirdest human being he’s ever met.  
“Let me shower you.” Louis mopes, puckering his lips.  
“We’ve already showered.” Harry gushes, eyes on the tv once more, smile big as he holds Louis away.  
(Louis knows he loves the attention deep down. Even though it may embarrass him.)  
“In kissesssssssssssss.” Louis grins. “Let me shower you in kissesssssssssssssss.”  
Harry giggles before falling over on the carpet, tugging at Louis’ leg to stay steady, but becoming absolutely helpless once Louis gets up to join him and the only noise he’s capable of making is a loud, incessant cackle. The sound of it makes Louis laugh as he gets on top of Harry and tries to bat away his long arms--- Harry’s shielding his face with his curls, laughing madly into the floor.  
“Let me appreciate youuuuuuuuuuuuu.” Louis mopes, dipping his head down.  
Harry continues to laugh, blushing as he finally lets Louis pry his arms away from his face and lay kisses there. His cheeks are warm against Louis’ lips, his eyes fluttering shut as Louis hovers over him, peppering kisses on his cheeks, on his nose, on his forehead, promising himself never to stop as long as Harry has that sheepish blush on his face. Eventually, Louis’ movements take him down to Harry’s jaw, and then his neck--- his journey ending as Harry scrunches his shoulders up and giggles once more.  
“Tickles.” He says, cheeks red.  
Louis nuzzles his nose there and leans onto Harry, really leans into him-- takes in his smell, his warmth, his everything. He’s lit up only by the colour of the tv, the rest of the house pitched in midnight.  
And then randomly (or not) Harry asks:-- “Do you want a baby with me?”  
Louis doesn’t miss a beat. “I want everything with you.”  
Harry smiles. “I want a baby with my smile and your eyes.”  
“That would be quite hard curly. It’s basic science.”  
“I don’t care.”  
“How about a nice little bundle of joy with your smile and my fashion sense then?”  
“Noooo. The other way around please”  
“Fuck you! I cut back on the Adidas stuff! see I even let you dress me up now!”  
“That’s because you’re whipped.” Harry grins, and Louis shakes his head and laughs.  
There’s a moment of silence, in which Harry closes his eyes and leans up, pressing his forehead against Louis’. He can feel his heartbeat hammering through his t-shirt.  
“I-- Yeah, I want one of those.” Louis says, rather sheepishly.  
“A baby?”  
“Yeah, dummy.”  
“Okay. Just checking. Let’s do it then.”  
“They don’t grow on trees, you’re aware, right?”  
“Shhhh. I know. Let’s sleep and go babyshopping tomorrow”  
“You’re horrible.”  
“You can be the the mama bear then.” Harry teases. “I’ll be the sarcastic daddy.”  
“Never. No. I’m putting my foot down. If you take away my sass, I have nothing left.”  
“Shut your trap.”  
“See, you stole my wit!”  
“That and your heart.”  
“Nah. I gave it to you. It was a voluntary donation.”  
“Ummm. You keep rewriting history babe. Soon you’ll be telling people that you kissed me first.”  
“Heh. I can still taste that fruity thingy you were drinking from time to time you know? That must count for something somewhere.”  
“It counts here.” Harry points to his own heart. And Louis kisses the spot.  
“Do you think I’ll be a good dad?” Louis asks then, very quiet and sensitive.  
Harry doesn’t miss a beat. “The very best, love.”  
“Alright.”  
Louis gets up, leaving a questioning Harry behind.  
“Come on now Curly, let’s pretend to try and make a baby like the straight do.”  
**  
They find Rose in an orphanage during a charity thing. She was abandoned as a baby because she has a heart condition and her single mother couldn’t handle it, or the costs, but from the moment Harry and Louis saw her, they knew.  
They move to LA soon after.  
They use a surrogate two years after that, and Olivia is born in the spring.  
Liam meets a nice girl and eventually marries her.  
They disband when Rose turns 5, and Sam has her fourth kid (Jules is the third and then two years later she births Ned).  
In 2026 Harry and Louis are still not married, as, funnily enough, they really don’t need no paper from the city hall. Liam ends divorced two times over, and with a son, to boot.  
Zayn makes it as a solo artist, gets married to a model, then get divorced. He makes some bad investments and has some tax problems due to bad management that make the news. Eventually, he reaches out to Louis and they talk it out, but things never are the same after that.  
Harry and Louis open Fireproof records.  
Liam is the new Michael Buble. His Christmas albums are always a hit.  
Niall is a sports anchorman and he loves it.  
Sam is a photographer, no surprise there.  
Harry and Louis pull a Brangelina and finally get married in 2030. Harry just said “let’s get married” in bed randomly and Louis rolled his eyes because the curly one just ruined his perfectly planned proposal. (It was gonna be in the form of a song and the girls were gonna sing background vocals.)  
And it’s a small event. They don’t exchange rings, instead getting the infinity symbol on their ring fingers. Sam does the photos (mainly because she doesn’t trust anybody to). As always, Nick’s best man speech is hilarious.  
"I remember a time when the Tommo was so far down the closet he couldn't tell his asshole from his mouth.” He wipes a fake tear away. “I wish I could say it was different when he came out.”  
Sam sings 80’s songs at the karaoke booth, somehow having not gotten any better with the years.  
And, out of all things... Zayn came. He declined at first, but showed up regardless, so it’s no wonder that Liam does a double back when he sees him.  
They’ve only seen each other in passing through the years: through the pages of gossip magazines and walking around award ceremonies. Liam, quite frankly, avoided him and every attempt Zayn ever made to mend fences. Liam never forgave him for leaving, he never forgave him for shitting all over the band in an attempt to make a name for himself, he never forgave him for tearing everything they had down.  
So... it’s weird. This whole thing is weird.  
Obviously.  
“Hey.” Liam says, trying to sound casual, but Zayn can tell if he could’ve gotten away with pretending he didn’t see him, he would have.  
“Hi.”  
“Heard you got divorced.”  
“So did you.” Zayn answers, but regrets it as soon as it leaves his lips.  
Well, this is starting good. Liam sighs, already exhausted.  
“Let’s not do this. This is Harry and Louis’ day, I don’t wanna ruin it.”  
They’re interrupted by a voice.  
“Dad, I’m hungry.” A beady-eyed, brown haired kid approaches them.  
“Hey, Dyl. Dad is busy right now buddy, can you find auntie Sam or uncle Niall?” Liam says.  
“Who’s this?” The kid scowls at Zayn.  
“Dylan Jonas Payne, I did not raise you in a barn, that’s not the way we talk to people.”  
“It’s okay, Li. Hi bud, I’m Zayn.”  
“Yeah, Zayn. No last name these days, am I right? You’re like Cher, or Madonna, so coool.” Liam says, sarcastic but Zayn ignores the jab and Dylan doesn’t notice.  
“Oh I know who you are! You were in the band with my dad and uncles, I recognise you now!” Dylan beams.  
“Yeah, that’s me.” Zayn chuckles.  
“You look so old now.” Dylan squints.  
“I need a drink.” Liam mutters, wiping his brow.  
Zayn just laughs. “Yeah, this is what happens when you grow up.”  
“Z! my man! you came.” Niall appears, clapping Zayn on the back and mounting the tension to a whole new level.  
“Dylan let’s go find Ned and Jules, they were looking all over for you.” Niall says, in an attempt of letting Zayn and Liam talk, but Liam won’t have it.  
“I’ll come with, I’m sure I can find a drink somewhere.”  
**  
Later when Sam is singing an 80’s hit (or, something recognizable as an 80’s hit before she tears it to pieces) Liam is nursing his third scotch when a voice startles him.  
“You’ve changed. You seem-- harder, I don’t know.” Zayn says, tentative.  
“Yeah? Who’s fault is that?”  
“It’s been fifteen years, Li…”  
“Fuck you.” Liam storms out, but Zayn follows him outside.  
“Wait! Please! Wait!”  
“Why should I? Yo certainly didn’t fifteen years ago!”  
“You’re drunk. Maybe we should talk some other time.”  
“There’s no time like the present! Go ahead, tell me! What do you want from me? Understanding? Forgiveness? What?” Liam practically yells.  
Zayn ignores the question. “What happened to you? You were a kind soul, you were never bitter like this. You were happy to live your dreams, what happened to you?”  
“You left me! And I was a broken man for years after that!”  
“I left the band. I didn’t leave you. You left me! Don’t rewrite history for your pity party.”  
“How could I stay with someone that hated everything I loved. My music! Part of me! Someone who lied and broke my trust!”  
“I-- I’m sorry. This is so not what I wanted. Things were so shitty back then. I was spiraling out of control, I had to leave, or else I would have died, eventually.” Zayn admits. “I’m sorry you think it was about you, because it wasn’t.”  
“We were in this together! You made decisions without me, like I didn’t matter!”  
“You would have tried to talk me out of it. And I know that I would have let you. This is why I did it this way. But for what it’s worth, I’ve never regretted anything more in my entire life. Breaking your trust. Being too weak to beg for your forgiveness. I missed you so much, Li. There was a hole in my heart for years, that nothing could fill. Not sold out arenas, not platinum albums, nothing.”  
“You got married.”  
“Not my smartest move. It lasted less than a year. It was a good substitute for a while, but--”  
Liam just stares, face hard and unreadable. Zayn’s speech trails off as he fumbles for something to say.  
“My first wife.” Liam finally says. “I was horrible to her.”  
Zayn nods.  
“My second wife, Daisy, I’ll always love her just because she gave me Dylan, so.”  
They stay silent for a bit.  
“I missed you. I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.” Zayn finally says in an exhale, voice barely audible.  
Liam looks in shock. Frozen even.  
“Did you miss me?” Zayn asks, bare eyes shining bright with so much in them. Love, hope, despair.  
Liam’s breath hitches.  
“Everyday.”  
**  
Louis never thought that he’d end up like this-- cheesy-ass dancing to Ed Sheeran in the middle of a wedding tent-- but things happen, and life happens, so here he is. He and Harry are both dressed in dashing suits, dancing and swaying with each other, his head resting square against Harry’s shoulder, eyes closed, and his hand on Harry’s chest.  
“I caught Liam and Zayn making out in the backroom.” Louis says, conversationally.  
Harry smiles. “Just like old times.”  
“Yeah.”  
They sway for a bit, peaceful and close, the ebb and flo of the mood lighting casting their footsteps every colour of the rainbow.  
Huh. Ironic.  
Louis nuzzles Harry’s shoulder. “Who would’ve thought we’d end up here?”  
“I did.” Harry says, kissing the top of his head.  
Louis raises his head up then, ready to kiss him, but soon he’s interrupted by their daughters, getting inbetween them in a chorus of giggles.  
“Time for a Tomlinson-Styles sandwich, Dads!” Olivia and Rose laugh.  
**  
Flashback: 15 March, 2016

Static darts across the screen. It’s a video, but with an unstable image, unfocused and blurred.  
“Is it working?” A voice - Louis’ - sounds in the background.  
“I don’t know, give me a sec.” Harry answers, concentrated.  
“Is the red light thingy blinking?”  
I pushed the button but-- there, it’s working!”  
Louis comes into focus.  
“Hi! I’m Louis Tomlinson from One Direction. Haz! Com’here!”  
“I can’t film and star in this film, babe.” Harry says, but he pans the phone to say hi regardless.  
“Um, okay.” Louis says. “We’re taking a break from our hiatus just for this.”  
“A break from the break!” Harry laughs.  
“Yeah exactly! Ummm. Our dear friend Stewart asked me to make a video, so here I am.”  
Louis brings out his guitar.  
“So, where to begin?”  
Louis pauses.  
“I mean, I know that the ‘it gets better project’ was created for young lgbt kids that were bullied in school. but I wasn’t bullied as a kid because I’m gay. I was the bully.”  
Louis purses his lips.  
“I hurt people. Because I was confused, because I was ashamed, because I didn’t want to be gay and I’m sorry. I wish I’d have gotten the help and support I needed when I was a teenager, because none of this would have happened. I’m not trying to find excuses, I’m taking responsibility for it. What I did was wrong. I want to tell you that no matter how lonely you feel. You’re not alone. You matter. Someday soon, you are gonna love yourself and find happiness. You are not alone. You are stronger than you think. So, if you’re getting through a hard phase in your life, if you’re confused, or feel like you don’t fit anywhere. This is for you.”  
Louis starts singing and Harry’s voice can be heard singing along.

Have you lost your way?  
Livin' in the shadow of the messes that you made,  
And so it goes,  
Everything inside your circle starts to overflow.  
Take a step before you leap,  
Into the colors that you seek,  
You'll get back what you give away,  
So don't look back on yesterday  
Wanna scream out,  
No more hiding,  
Don't be afraid of what's inside  
Gonna tell you, you'll be alright,  
In the Aftermath  
Anytime anybody pulls you down,  
Anytime anybody says you're not allowed,  
Just remember you are not alone,  
In the Aftermath  
You feel the weight,  
Of lies and contradictions that you live with every day,  
It's not too late,  
Think of what could be if you rewrite the role you play.  
Take a step before you leap,  
Into the colors that you seek,  
You give back what you give away,  
So don't look back on yesterday  
Anytime anybody pulls you down,  
Anytime anybody says you're not allowed,  
Just remember you are not alone,  
In the Aftermath  
Before you break you have to shed your armour  
Take a trip and fall into the glitter  
Tell a stranger that they're beautiful  
So all you feel is love, love  
Wanna scream out,  
No more hiding,  
Don't be afraid of what's inside.  
Wanna tell ya, you'll be alright,  
In the Aftermath!


End file.
